


a sword in other hands

by BloodyMary



Series: Forbears of what will be [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends (Dark Horse Comics), Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Dawn of the Jedi (Comics)
Genre: Family of Choice, Fix-Fic, Force War AU, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Rakata, War Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-03-07 07:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 56,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13429608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyMary/pseuds/BloodyMary
Summary: The Infnite Empire will not forget a potential conquest easily. And so, despite the efforts to prevent it, an invasion fleet will arrive on Tython soon. But little do they know that this will sow the seeds from which the Jedi Order will eventually grow.





	1. Where the Rakata Finally Get Around to Gathering an Invasion Fleet

The screams echoed across cold grey hallways, and yet everyone acted as if there were nothing out of ordinary. Two women—a human one and one of a more feline-like species that Daegen did not recognize—were talking in low voices. Both were dressed in what appeared to be somewhat shapeless black uniforms.

A huge reptilian creature with long arms scurried past them. Their face had the letter aurek tattooed in black, and their body sported a collection of scars of various origins. In fact, most of those who hurried by had tattoos marking them as slaves. Those who appeared to be more at leisure had unadorned faces.

Their voices mingled with the screams and it took Daegen a moment to realize that he couldn’t understand a word. There was something about the way they spoke that at first just made him think it was a thicker accent than Tamid’s. He recognized the trilled “r’s” and the general cadence, but the language itself for was different from the ones he had heard.

Then, Daegen sensed it—a familiar chill that ought to have made his blood freeze, a sense of malevolence that nearly had a taste; bitter like poison. Like a wave, the free people fell silent and turned to look behind him.

He turned around as well, even though he knew what was behind him, and saw…

Clearly, his mind had done an amazing job at suppressing just how wrong the rakata seemed. He had remembered them as grotesque, ridiculous; but now faced with the creature—their skin black like volcanic ash save for a scarred arm—he was afraid.

They walked unhurriedly, ignoring all those around them and the short armoured person a few steps behind them. Daegen could not tell the gender or species of the armoured person, but he guessed what they were. A Force Hound.

They kept looking around with an alertness akin to that of a dog following a trail. Trying to sense danger, perhaps?

And then their eye-slit turned in his direction. It almost felt like their gazes had met.

“I’m sorry,” he said, knowing that the person beneath the helmet wouldn’t hear him or understand him.

And then he woke up. 

 

* * *

 

 

Acaadi wasn’t sure what woke him up at first, until he noticed Daegen was no longer pressed against him. He rolled onto his back with a token grumble and cracked his eyes open. The first thing he noticed was that it was still dark. The second thing was that Daegen was sitting up, his back straight.

It was a scene that took him eleven years back into the past—except than, it had been dawning and pale light had begun creeping into the room. And then, the next day, Daegen was gone from the Temple of Science, on his way to the other continent, to the Silent Desert.

He sat up too and put his hand on Daegen’s back—his skin felt cold, like he’d been sitting like this for a while.

“What happened?” he asked. He didn’t ask if it had been another vision, but apparently he didn’t need to.

“I’m not going away this time around,” Daegen said, turning around to face him. “I know what it means.” Acaadi guessed rather than saw the sardonic smile quirking his lover’s lips. “So, forgive me, but I’d rather stay here where I have a comfortable bed. Even if some people insist on taking up half of it.”

“I’m some people?” Acaadi asked, smiling despite himself.

“Oh fine, you’re one very specific person,” Daegen answered, as he settled back onto his pillow.

“So—that was a vision?” Acaadi asked, once he laid down next to him and pulled him closer.

“Yes,” Daegen answered. He fell silent for a moment. “Let’s talk about it in the morning.” He put his hand on Acaadi’s chest. “I’m not letting some cannibalistic lizard suffering from prion disease ruin my sleep.” 

 

* * *

 

 

The sprout was pale green and barely visible in the grass. Tamid sat down in front of it, the sun shining into his face, so that he wasn’t casting a shadow over it. Sek’nos was crouching next to him.

“Do you think we put enough fertilizer and water for this to work?” the large togruta asked.

Tamid nodded. “It only has to grow visibly—that doesn’t mean it has to get really big.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, thinking. “I should notice if it will start stealing from other plants.” Then he thought better about what he had said. “Can something that doesn’t have a brain actually steal anything? Stealing requires intent.”

“Eh, as long as your meaning is clear, I think that’s not something you need to worry about right now,” Sek’nos replied and put his hands on his knees. “Ready?”

Tamid nodded, then closed his eyes.

He still felt the heat on his skin from the sun. The grass underneath him was slightly cooler. Sek’nos’s pants rustled slightly whenever he moved. Something was buzzing in the distance, and even further away a woman whose voice he didn’t recognize was talking in a hushed voice to someone else.

The sprout before him was just a spark now, but as Tamid focused on it, he could sense… In an animal it would be an instinct, but this was something even more basic. It wasn’t a purpose—if he had to describe it, he’d say it was closest to programming. Except even that was too much, since it still implied a sentient mind behind it.

Regardless, the plant would grow, and Tamid was just going to tell it to do it faster than usual. He focused most of his attention on that task, sparing only a bit to sense how the grass around it would react.

The small spark of life started growing stronger at a rapid pace and Sek’nos gasped audibly. Tamid waited another moment, until he sensed the grass growing weaker, and then tried to calm the sapling down.

When he opened his eyes, he first saw fresh green leaves. The sapling was at his eye level now and seemed quite healthy.

“It worked,” he said.

“And how do you feel?” Sek’nos asked as he turned away from the small tree.

“Fi-“ Tamid started to say, but all of a sudden, he felt something. A coldness, like the fingers of someone who had frozen to death on his neck. He looked around, but even as he searched with his gaze for the source of the feeling, he realized it was not on Tython. 

 

* * *

 

 

The dress was bright red with loose sleeves and a layered skirt that split at the front to reveal paler fabric underneath. Vev inspected herself in a mirror and pulled her hair up, so that her neck was uncovered. The red fabric hid her neck, but opened up again on her chest, leaving a small patch of white.

The colour of the skirt matched the colour of the flames that now covered most of her face. The tattoo had been quite painful, but it covered the old one completely.

Vev turned to the side, marvelling at what a difference colour made to how she looked. Dressed like this, she wouldn’t blend into the background anymore, like a good slave. People would see her.

“I told you that she’s going to look amazing in red,” Jatzikar said with a grin. Her pale green lekku curled around each other for a moment, as she studied Vev.

“And I agreed with you,” Tendaji said, folding his arms across his chest. “Seeing that I sewed it.”

“It’s very pretty,” Vev said quickly. Tendaji was her most favourite person right now—since he wasn’t just nice enough to show off his lovely chest, but he also made things like the red dress and hadn’t asked her for anything in return. “I never had anything that pretty before. I mean, I didn’t actually have my armour, my master did—and it was practical, you don’t want to get stabbed when not wearing armour, because that hurts, but-“ She took a breath, and tried to remember what she had wanted to say. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

“No,” Tendaji answered firmly and shook his head. Then, he pushed his dreadlocks out of his face. He had dyed a few of them bright red and yellow, so they stood out against his dark skin and the rest of his black hair. “It’s a gift. We have to make up for all of the birthdays you’ve missed.”

She still had trouble accepting this completely. No one was this nice, except… except Tendaji wasn’t lying and could have demanded anything at any point or just not made the dress-

All of a sudden, she felt as if someone was watching her. Like a hidden killer, their presence like a deathly cold touch on the back of her neck. It passed a moment, later, but all of a sudden, Vev’s enthusiasm was gone.

“Oh no,” she said, blinking furiously. It wasn’t fair, she thought, as she felt hot tears prickle her eyes. “They’re going to come after all.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Jenth recoiled. She must have done something wrong. Or maybe there was something wrong with her? First, there had been the ghostly human man. She had even heard him, although she still had no idea what he had been trying to say.

And now this.

Someone had sensed her. There were at least two Force-sensitives on the world that had claimed predor Tul’kar, his Force Hound and the Force Hound of Dictator Skal’nas. Predor Gal’vor didn’t seem too concerned about it, though. Jenth supposed it was because unlike Tul’kar, her predor had the sense to take an army with him.

Skal’nas’s Force Hound had managed to report that there were no sentients on the planet, only beasts, and yet Jenth was sure that it had not been animals that have sensed her.

Except no one ought to have been able to do that.

It was probably better if she didn’t try again—in case there really were people who’d notice her. If she was lucky, they might brush off the first time as just a weird feeling, but a second one would likely alarm them.

And if she did alarm them, and if the campaign was harder because of her… She simply couldn’t allow herself to make any mistakes.

“Well?” predor Gal’vor asked, scratching the floor with the claws on his left leg impatiently. The noise was grating, a kind of high-pitched squeal. She always wondered why it didn’t bother him or, for that matter, if it hurt. Then again, rakata had proper claws, and breaking those took quite a lot of effort.

“Someone sensed me,” Jenth admitted. If she wanted to be careful, she needed to give him a good reason—he wouldn’t just accept that she didn’t want to take a risk on a whim.

Her predor leaned towards her and grabbed her chin. Fortunately, her skin was too thick for him to pierce it, but it still hurt when he did that. She stood still, hoping he’d let go soon—if she struggled, he’d just get angry and she absolutely didn’t want that.

“Who?” he hissed. Up close like this, she could see small scars that covered the left part of his face that normally were too faint to spot. Unlike her skin, his was thin, but it was also creased over his brow and mouth. It was just familiar enough to make him look uncanny. “There wasn’t supposed to be anyone there.”

“I don’t know,” Jenth said, trying very hard not to shrink back. A Force Hound was not supposed to be timid.

“Then find out,” predor Gal’vor snapped.

“But that’d warn them-“ Jenth started to protest.

“Let it," her predor said with a shrug. “Let them stew in uncertainty and quake in fear. It will make our conquest easier.” He let go of her, and Jenth padded backwards, as she rubbed her chin. “You do remember what will happen if you disobey, don’t you, Jenth?”

She nodded frantically.

“Good,” Gal’vor said, his mouth peeling back to expose the many sharp teeth in something that was part smile and part threat display. “The miserable mud-ball that birthed you is still moderately useful. I’d hate to have to glass it because of your disobedience or incompetence.” He paused. “Well, no, not hate. I’d be mildly put out.”

“I won’t fail, I promise,” Jenth said quickly.

Gal’vor looked at her and then reached out to pat her head comfortingly. “Of course not. You’re a good girl, aren’t you? If you’re quick enough, I might have a treat for you later.”


	2. Where We Learn Yet Again that the Rakata Are Not Nice

Tem Madog came last. He usually did—there was just so much to do, and recently his workload had grown even bigger. Perhaps some had started doubting if the invasion would come, but Tem was a firm believer in making sure hope was backed up with something tangible.

He sat down in his place and looked around—Ketu actually appeared to be pensive. A rare occurrence, given how calm he tended to be. It still was quite understated—his posture was a bit more stiff, his expression slightly more tense.

Next to the Master of Philosphy, Rajivari appeared like a literal thundercloud. He radiated disapproval all over, uncaring who picked up his foul mood. Still, he was almost understated compared to Vev—the young woman was broadcasting dismay and bleak despair like a storm.

This did not escape the attention of Daegen Lok’s apprentice, who made his way towards Vev. Tem couldn’t hear what Tamid told her, but Vev suddenly embraced him. If not for the situation, the scene would have been quite amusing—Tamid almost jumped and hesitated for a few seconds, before eventually patting the young woman’s back awkwardly.

They had each changed a lot since he had last seen them—Tamid’s tattoo was missing completely, while Vev had hers replaced with flames that started at her upper lip and covered most of her face.

“May we start?” Ketu asked, his voice level and measured. He waited a moment for everyone to settle down, and then turned towards Kora. “Daegen, you had the clearest vision of all those recorded. Did you have any others since the last one?”

Daegen Lok shook his head. “No. I’d rather not have any this week, if it’s all the same to you. There’s a limit to how much I can look at a creature whose head looks like a sausage with eye-stalks.”

Tem sensed the discomfort behind the joke. Daegen Lok was trying to mask it, but he was rattled.

“You’ve seen a rakata with a Force Hound, correct?” Ketu asked. “Can you describe either of them? Perhaps Tamid or Vev can recognize them.”

Daegen nodded. “The Force Hound was small—about the same size and shape as a human young adult. I can’t say much else about them—they were wearing armour. The rakata was… about as tall as I am,” he said tersely. “They had black skin and had burn scars on their left arm.”

“That’s predor Gal’vor,” Tamid said, as he turned towards his teacher. Tem thought Vev looked disappointed when he let go of her. “He’s… competent, but my owner hated him. He called him a heretic.”

“What did he mean by that?” Lha-mi asked, leaning forward.

“I don’t know,” Tamid answered and glanced at Vev. “Do you?”

“Dictator Skal’nas said he was radical, but effective,” she said after a moment as she gripped the hem of her shirt tightly.

“What do you mean by ‘radical’?” Miarta Sek asked. She had been leaning forward in her seat, her elbows resting on her knees and her chin on her hands.

Vev looked to Tamid for a moment, then turned back to Miarta. She replied with a look of uncertainty, “I’m not really sure—I think it was something to do with how he motivates his troops.”

Tamid’s frown had deepened, but eventually he shook his head. “Predor Tul’kar thought he put too much value on understanding how the non-rakata think. He never did explain what he meant by that when I was around, probably because I wasn’t rakata and might have gotten into my head that what I think matters.”

“Can you tell us anything else about him?” Ketu asked lacing his hands in front of his face.

Tamid didn’t answer right away. For a moment, he kept looking at a point outside, until he seemed to have reached some sort of a conclusion. “He believes absolutely in the military might of the Empire and that fear is their strongest weapon.”

“Do you know anything about the Force Hound?” Kora asked quietly. She appeared pensive, as if something was worrying her—but then, they all had a lot on their minds right now.

Tamid shook his head. “They’ve always worn their helmet when Gal’vor and Tul’kar met. It could be a new one, it could be the old one. I don’t know.”

“That’s odd,” Daegen Lok said, as he scratched his beard. “Given that they seemed to be much more important in my vision than Gal’vor.”

“Or you paid more attention to them, because you’re teaching a Force Hound,” Rajivari said. Tem wondered if he and Lok could be in the same room without picking a fight with each other

“Thank you,” Ketu said, cutting both men off before they could get started. “Can you tell us anything more about Gal’vor, Tamid? Does he favour any specific tactics?”

“Flesh Raider terror strikes,” the young man replied, his frown growing deeper. Tem sensed disapproval from him. “He bragged about picking larger population centres and letting them rampage. Then he’d broadcast the recordings to demoralize the remaining population.”

“Charming,” Daegen Lok said in the particular tone of someone who was masking their horror with sarcasm.

“We can use that,” Quan-Jang said with a thoughtful expression. He had pulled his braid over his shoulder and was toying with the end as he spoke. “Make an enclosure seem like a population centre-“ He hesitated and then asked, “Are the Flesh Raiders poisonous?”

“No,” Vev said and made a face. “But their meat is tough and stringy.”

Tem listened with something between horror and fascination as Quan-Jang replied, “That sounds like rancors would be best.”

Jaume Fenn muttered, “Please don’t ask her how she knows that. Please. I want to pretend it’s not what I think it is.”

“Kora, your daughter had a vision as well, didn’t she?” Ketu asked, after giving the Master of Arts a pointed look.

“Yes,” the Master of Knowledge answered, reaching up to adjust one blue lekku with her hand. “She saw someone with the letter Jenth on their face and a blue lightsaber, but not much else. She didn’t recognize the species, but she tried to draw a likeness.”

The twi’lek woman passed the drawing over until it reached Vev and Tamid.

“Oh, a weequay,” Vev said. Tamid recoiled. The young woman looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“Predor Tul’kar conquered their world,” he said quietly rubbing his wrist. “It was my first- I was there.”

Vev raised her hand, but hesitated before touching him. While she stood undecided, Daegen Lok walked over and put his hand on Tamid’s shoulder. “Excuse us. We will be back in a moment.”

“Of course,” Ketu said. “Perhaps a break is in order.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Tamid didn’t say anything when they left the Council chamber. Not that Daegen had expected him to open up—the boy still tended to clam up when he was upset over something.

“I’m fine,” Tamid said suddenly. “I-“ He hesitated then. “I didn’t expect- I knew that some of the people from the planets I helped conquer would be Force-sensitive. I led my owner to some of them. But… I didn’t- I didn’t think I’d- Whoever the other Force Hound is, they’re one because of me.”

While the subject of the new Force Hound and their species had surfaced only now, the conversation itself was not exactly new. Guilt seemed something Tamid was still struggling with. Not that Daegen had expected him to move past that quickly or easily.

People struggled with guilt over much less thorny matters.

“How old were you when your owner invaded that planet?” Daegen asked.

Tamid shrugged helplessly. “Around twelve. I-… I know there was nothing I could have done to stop it. I just- I made them stronger. I helped them. I never even started to think about- about anyone else until I was here and-“ He breathed out and closed his eyes. “I can’t change any of that.”

“None of us can,” Daegen said after a moment. “But look at this like that—when you were given the chance to turn away from what you’ve been taught, when you saw it was wrong, you did. And that means that others from the Infinite Empire can learn that.”

Tamid seemed to relax a fraction then—at least he had finally stopped picking at his sleeve and looked up at him. “Do you think it will ever fall?”

“It has to,” Daegen said firmly. “Eventually, the rakata will stumble—and then all their slaves will turn on them. If you build your power only on the appearance of strength, any weakness will rob you of it.” 

 

* * *

 

 

The Council had gathered soon enough – the meeting had not been nearly long enough to warrant a longer break after all. Ketu had only managed to read a message Rori had sent him and then inform Jaume that his nephew had learned how to say “Poo” and found it hilarious to call everything that.

Jaume was just making it back to his seat, when the final participants had made it back into the chamber. Rajivari took a place behind Ketu with Vev to the side—the young woman had been steadily miserable since first sensing that someone was.. observing her through the Force? She seemed certain enough that she probably knew what she was talking about.

“Vev,” he said, turning towards the young woman, “you sensed someone watching you. Do you know who that could be?”

“I think it’s probably predor Gal’vor’s Force Hound,” Vev answered. “They’re probably trying to get some idea of what to expect—they probably still can’t tell that you’re sentient, but they should be able to guess this is a densely populated system.”

“They may realize that we’re alive,” Tamid added, once Vev stopped talking. “At least-“

“They won’t realize you are alive,” Vev interjected. “You feel too different. But I guess I’m still the same, so they can recognize me. And um… if they do, they may figure out I lied.”

“Or that your comm was too badly damaged,” Daegen Lok said. He didn’t sound very convinced, though.

“We can’t rely on this,” Miarta Sek said as she leaned forward in her seat. “Did anyone else have a vision of this child?”

As it turned out, no one did, but Lha-Mi spoke up next. “One of my Knights—Yanna—saw a man. A human, around fifty—the likeness is as good as we could get from her description.”

And so another sheet of flimsi with a sketch made its way around the Council until it reached Tamid and Vev. The young man looked at it for a while, his brow furrowed in concentration, as he studied the depiction. The man had golden-brown skin, dark brown hair and eyes offset by a dark green tattoo that covered most of his cheek and part of his jaw. He had pleasant enough features, insofar as Ketu could judge this kind of thing, even with the obvious signs of age and weariness showing on his face.

“I know him,” he said eventually. “It’s Mern—which you all know, because it’s tattooed on his face--he’s the Force Hound of tribune Dan’an. I suppose with my owner dead, Dan’an ended up under Gal’vor’s command.”

Vev continued examining the picture for a while longer, before handing it back. “If he belongs to a tribune, I guess I wouldn’t have seen him without his helmet.” She paused and turned to Tamid with a worried expression. “But, he looks old? Most Force Hounds don’t live that long.” She chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “He’s either very lucky or very good at what he does.”

“Both,” Tamid said after a moment. “They banned Dan’an from putting him in the arena, first from fighting and then even from the public executions—I think they said he did it too quickly and it was boring to watch.”

_“This is all too vague to help us much,”_ Ruhr said shaking his head. _“We should gather all those who have had visions about the rakata in one place so that they can compare them. Perhaps then they will be able to form a coherent picture.”_

“We can’t rely on visions,” Rajivari said. Ketu stifled a sigh. As unreliable as visions could be, they weren’t useless.

“Just because you’re too close-minded to have had one, Master Rajivari,” Daegen Lok said, clearly having taken offence, “does not mean that we who do should be silenced. Or would you put your comfort over our safety?”

“I would not entrust our safety to vague dreams—the future is constantly in motion and we just don’t know what any of this may mean,” Rajivari replied in the tone he used when he wanted to indicate someone was being particularly stupid. It had yet to work on Daegen Lok, but clearly, Ketu’s teacher did not intend to give up. “Take the man whom Knight Yanna has seen—you’ve heard Vev – he’s at the age when he may die any day. For all we know, he already did something that got him killed.”

“We don’t know,” Miarta Sek snapped. “Which is why we shouldn’t dismiss any vision—Ruhr has the right idea. We should gather the seers in one place and have them cooperate.”

“This seems like a reasonable idea,” Ketu said. He saw Quan-Jang frown, but the Master of Science wouldn’t voice doubts about this subject. Not when his first student was one of the more accurate seers. “I believe our next step will be alerting the other planets and calling for their representatives to join us in preparing our defence strategy.”

No one voiced any objections to this proposition either, so Ketu turned to his old teacher. “Perhaps Vev and Tamid would like to catch up and I’m sure Master Lok will want a list of other seers—could you give it to him, master?”

Rajivari nodded, although his expression turned sour. As long as Rajivari could put his dislike of Daegen Lok aside, Ketu found it to only a minor distraction. He waited for the door to close, before addressing the Council again.

“Before we decide who will represent us, I feel we should discuss who is most likely to come from the other worlds,” he said. “Kora—you know the current despot of Shikaakwa best of us all. Who will Volnos send?”

Guessing Shikaakwan politics had never been easy—the noble houses tended feud with each other ceaselessly, and only Volnos’s predecessor—the late Hadiya—had ever gotten close to truly uniting a portion of them. But for the last ten years, her former supporters had been in a state of cold war with each other—those that had kept on pushing for the war even after her death against those that had backed Volnos of house Ryo to retake the throne.

“If nothing has changed, than it will be his cousin, Dolene,” Kora answered, her hands laced on her lap. “He’s married to Ionna of house Herena—her family supported Hadiya during the war, so he has to be impartial.”

“I see,” Ketu said. He scratched his beard as he thought about what Kora had said. He had met Dolene Ryo earlier, and knew him as mild-mannered man. He would follow the majority, unless Shikaakwan interests were directly threatened. “Ruhr, what about Ska Gora? You have family there.”

The wookiee nodded. _“Raan-at-Asha, most likely. She was chosen to serve a next term as a mediator between the city-states, so if she makes any decisions, they will have to abide by her choices.”_

This also made sense—the Ska-Goran floating city-states did not feud like the Shikaakwan noble houses, but each had their own unique culture and traditions. Some were so different from the others that they may have as well been completely alien to them. Raan-at-Asha may have been quite old by now, but that also meant she had the most experience keeping tensions low.

He looked at Tem Madog—he was originally from Nox and his temple had the closes ties to the many corporations that ran the planet. The cathar bared his teeth in a grimace. “Not all of the corporations will send a representative—but we can count on the largest seven sending someone. They just won’t trust one another enough to agree for one of them to represent all others.”

“That’s not new,” Miarta Sek said drily. “But we will need them, so we will have to make sure they do not bicker with each other instead of discussing the actual problem.”

Ketu nodded. “I have someone in mind who should be capable of doing just that, but first, let’s consider Kalimahr—I think their Minister of Foreign Affairs will come personally. Nibiri Ndemi has been active throughout her term so far, and there’s no reason to expect this to change.”

“We can always request her,” Jaume pointed out. “Our ties with Kalimahr remain the closest, so they will be most likely to agree to our suggestions.”

There was quite a lot of truth to that. The most obvious tie, was Lha-Mi’s partner—the current president of Kalimahr, Phon-Gyi.

However, this was not all. Kalimahr and Tython had historically been the most unified worlds in the system—perhaps because the first settlers had not been disgruntled conservatives, like on Shikaakwa, or industrialists seeking to maximize their gains like on Nox, nor had they chosen to build floating cities so that the world remained unchanged by them, like on Ska Gora. Instead, they had moved to a safer haven than Tython could ever be.

The sentiment was somewhat bizarre to Ketu, but he supposed that living to adulthood on Tython, with its _interesting_ collection of specialized predators, might skew one’s perspective.

“What about the colonies on Obri’s and Mawr’s moons?” Calleh asked. “Should we exclude them? They will be first to be under attack.”

Quan-Jang shook his head. “None of them have petitioned to join the Council of Worlds. Formally, all of the colonies are still under the jurisdiction of the member-states. They will have to rely on the representatives of the member-states to represent them.” Then, he turned to Ketu. “Can we stop stalling and decide who we will send?”

“Of course,” Ketu replied. He had been meaning to move onto this subject anyway, but if Quan-Jang wanted to do it for him, he would not protest. “I propose that we send two representatives—someone from Stav Kesh to deal with the strictly military matters and someone from Akar Kesh to focus on the legal issues.” He turned to Lha-Mi, who had been listening to them intently and silently for a while now. “Who would you send?”

The talid considered the question for another moment, before finally saying, “Yanna—before she formally joined Stav Kesh, she was a Ranger and has experience with diplomacy, and the other planets.” He shrugged and added, “She can join the other seers later.”

“Does anyone have any objections?” Ketu asked. It was a formality, really. They had agreed a year before that in the matters of this war, the other temples would follow the joint lead of Stav Kesh and Akar Kesh.

“Since you already have someone in mind, Ketu, do enlighten us,” Miarta Sek said impatiently.

“Cala Brin,” Ketu replied. “She’s young, true, but she’s smart and can hold her own in a debate.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Vev studied Xesh—or well, Tamid, since that was what he said she should call him now, and she figured he’d get upset if she didn’t. She didn’t want a repeat of the whole apology rigmarole, so she guessed she needed to work on calling him that in her head.

“You got rid of your tattoo,” she said, reaching out to touch the bridge of his nose. She thought she saw a very faint scar there, but it was barely visible against his tan skin. He flinched slightly, and she drew her hand back immediately.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m not a- a letter, not a thing. I’m not going to walk around with a sign saying I’m a slave on my face.” He reached up to his face then and touched it just over his eyebrow. “You had yours changed.”

She shrugged then and grinned. “Do you like it?”

Tamid seemed taken aback by the question at first, which was a bit weird, since Vev was certain it looked absolutely amazing. Then, he studied her face for a moment and eventually said, “It suits you.”

It was somehow different from when Jatzikar or Noortje told her that—closer to how she felt whenever Tendaji complimented her. Although not the same—with Tendaji, she noticed the shape of his neck and (if it was bare) how lovely his chest was. With Tamid, it made her think of how long his lashes were and about the shape of his lips.

“But you kept your- the name they gave you,” Tamid said. “Why?”

Startled, Vev did not know how to answer at first. Rajivari had asked her the same a while ago, and… well, people kept asking her, but she had refused to give them an answer. But… Tamid knew her when she had been a child and even if he went back to his old name, he’d understand.

“My mother gave me away,” she said careful to keep her voice neutral. It had been long ago and that woman did not matter to her one bit. And if she didn’t matter, then this couldn’t hurt her. “If she didn’t want me, I don’t want anything she gave me. At least the rakata did want me, even if it was because I was useful.”

She looked down at her feet as she waited for some sort an answer. It seemed like an eternity, and with every moment she kept feeling more and more like showing that sort of vulnerability had been a mistake.

“You don’t have to go back to the name you had before, though,” Tamid said eventually. “You can just pick anything you want.”

Vev wasn’t sure about the idea. For most of her life, Vev _had_ been her name. Without the letter hidden under the red flames that now decorated her face, there was no reason why people should assume her name was anything but a sound.

On the other hand… She was free. She could change her name, if she wanted to. It could be anything. “I don’t know—I don’t mind people calling me Vev, but maybe there is something that sounds nicer. I’ll think about it.”

But she wasn’t going to think about it right now. It was just too weird.

“Oh, by the way,” she said quickly, intent to change the subject, “the cathar plant-lady you keep asking me to say hello to and ask about things said I can bring you over, if you’re ever around. Let’s go.”


	3. Where the Rest of the System Reacts to the Upcoming War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in case you're confused about the planets and their hats, do not fear! This is exactly why we have "To Make an Apple Pie from Scratch: Worldbuilding"! Just take a look at the chapter on geography for a quick run-down of planets and at major figures for some who's who.

Ashla had been the traditional neutral ground of the Tythos system ever since Kalimahr and Shikaakwa had claimed independence from Tython. The first negotiations had been conducted in an abandoned city hall, as a memorial plaque at the entrance to the main conference room in the newer Hall of Accord stated. Dolene Ryo studied it with mild disinterest, as he waited for the final representatives of the Nox corporations to show up.

Unlike the Ska Goran city-states, the corporations had never agreed to pick a single representative—which may have been understandable, but nevertheless was frustrating. Just as Dolene had finished reading up on the history of building the Hall of Accord, he heard new voices.

Gal Aran, a dark-skinned zabrak, who represented the Laeran Company walked next to a pair of golden-furred cathar—Raissa Shadr and her twin-brother Adarr, who both stood for Dravik Solutions. They were followed by a towering dark-brown wookiee: Agharr from Llash Laboratories. All of them were engrossed in a conversation.

“Finally,” Raan-at-Asha snorted. The Ska Goran representative was an ancient devaronian woman, and Dolene was frankly slightly terrified of her. She looked a bit like his aunt—the wife of Volnos’s late father, who had been rumoured to have once beaten her husband’s rival to death with his own leg.

It was almost definitely a rumour though.

Slowly, they started settling down around the large circular table. A holodisplay of the whole system was already illuminating the room with its pale blue light.

Eventually, only the representative of Stav Kesh was left standing—the obvious choice to lead their gathering, Dolene supposed. To his surprise, he did not recognize her or the other Tythonian representative and had to check his datapad to find out who they were.

"Thank you for coming here," the mirialan woman said. She was tall and wiry, and the dark blue tattoos on her chin and cheeks stood out starkly against her pale green skin. “I am Knight Yanna of Stav Kesh. We have gathered here to prepare for an oncoming invasion—I am sure all of you have been making your own plans ever since the possibility became known, but it’s time we coordinated our efforts.”

“Why have we not been allowed to question either of those… Force Hounds?” Neiss Rawn, the iktotchi representative of Sharala Arms asked.

“Matters pertaining to Force Sensitives have always been under Tythonian jurisdiction,” said the representative of Akar Kesh. She was a slender human woman with glossy black hair and shrewd black eyes. What had been her name? Callie? He surreptitiously glanced at his notes. Close enough--it was Cala Brin and was apparently a student of law. “We have gathered suggestions from all of you, before questioning them, and provided you with the transcript. If something new has occurred to you, then we will gladly ask them.”

Neiss didn’t seem entirely satisfied but also didn’t appear to want to press the issue.

“Maybe we should move to the actual reason why we are here,” Raan-at-Asha said in a testy voice. “We need to agree on how we will protect ourselves. Shikaakwa is still… officially demilitarized, for one. It will fall to others to protect it.”

Dolene shifted and rubbed his lekku uncomfortably. “The military itself may have been disbanded, but the noble houses still maintain their own security forces. Quite a lot of them are veterans from the last conflict—I’m sure the other houses will not oppose consolidating them again.”

“Thank you, sebastos,” Raan-at-Asha replied, tactfully not mentioning that by any other standards, Shikaakwan lack of opposition meant at best lots of yelling and name-calling, and at worst a brawl.

“I was going to suggest sending a detachment of Knights or Rangers to each planet to coordinate local defence with your police forces,” Knight Yanna said with a small frown. She then looked at Dolene meaningfully. “Though it may not be welcome help everywhere.”

Perhaps someone else might have attempted dissembling, but Dolene was acutely aware it would fool no one—and likely cost them more in the long run—then simply admitting the truth. “It’s true that some houses are still harbouring Hadiya’s loyalists—or in fact are run by loyalists, who had enough common sense to pledge loyalty to Volnos once Hadiya was dead.”

“That’s one of way of saying that they were embarrassed to follow someone who’d lose their head for a pretty face,” Neiss snorted. Clearly, the money his company had earned by supplying Hadiya had not endeared her to him.

“Regardless of how we put it—they hold a grudge against Tython,” Dolene said. “On the other hands, there is a significant number of houses who are still grateful to them for putting a stop to Hadiya’s reign—we will need to keep their forces separated in any case, so we can assign the Knights or Rangers to the Ryo loyalist forces.”

“What about our factories?” Raissa Shadr asked, as she placed her clawed hands on the table. “You will undoubtedly ask us to turn them towards making more weapons, but we will need assurance that they will be sufficiently protected.”

“You’re third from Tythos,” Raan-at-Asha snapped. “Out of all the settled worlds, you will be safest, simply because they will have to conquer "four other worlds and the colonies on Mawr and Obri's moons, before they get to Nox.”

The cathar woman sighed heavily. “Getting past all of those is easy—there’s a lot more free space in space then there is planets. And it makes sense to take out the production base first.”

Another Noxian representative coughed then. He was a pale brown selkath with darker spots on the top of his head and hands: Chala Grell of Skailli Industries.

“There is a plan,” he said. “Knight Yanna, if you permit?” He turned to look at the mirialan woman and waited until she nodded. Then, he continued. “Skailli Industries has already started production of experimental space mines—they will form a shield between Obri and Ska Gora.”

“This will hopefully keep the invasion fleet from trying to enter the inner system,” Knight Yanna said. She rose from her seat and keyed a few commands on a datapad, which caused a net between the representations of the two planets to appear. “This way, we will be able to minimize the damage to densely populated areas and keep the rakata in a territory we have prepared for war.”

It was only than that Nibiri Ndemi, the Kalimahrian representative, had joined the discussion.

 _“What about the colonists?”_ the sullustan woman asked, frowning rather spectacularly. Of course, Kalimahr had been the most aggressive about colonization, closely followed by the corporations from Nox.

“We will need to evacuate them,” Cala Brin said in a business-like tone.

“We have discussed creating a mine-shield behind Furies Gate,” Knight Yanna added, “but that would cost us too much resources, and they may have technology which would enable to bypass them if placed so far from the other planets.”

“Those… hyper-drives that your refugees have mentioned, correct?” Gal Aran asked. “But they cannot use them effectively in the system…” He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, before adding, “I’m loath to suggest this, but we will need to destroy our industrial facilities in the colonies. We can build them again and we do not want those rakata to have any way to gain a production-base within the system.”

Several other Noxian representatives protested that and it took the combined efforts of Raan-at-Asha and Cala Brin to calm them down sufficiently to continue the meeting.

 _“If we are going to be destroying structures, should we not use the opportunity to make them into traps?”_ Nibiri Ndemi asked as she rubbed her chin.

“We should at least consider this as an option,” Raan-at-Asha replied, as she pushed some of her silver-grey hair behind her ears. “But some of the facilities may be best destroyed in advance. Traps may fail or be disarmed.” 

“Perhaps we could use the layout of some of the larger colonies to our advantage,” Dolene suggested. “Urban combat favours those on their own turf.”

Knight Yanna nodded. “That is a good suggestion, sebastos. Thank you.”

Raan-at-Asha snorted and muttered under her breath, “Finally Shikaakwan feuding finds a use.”

Dolene pretended not to hear her. There was little to be gained from challenging her, right now. Perhaps later, once they had established more he would approach her.

“And what will we do, if the rakata breach the mine-shield?” Neiss asked as he studied the holomap.

Cala Brin regarded him coolly then. “We will fight them, of course.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Ayaah sipped her tea and checked the progress of the data download. It was only half way done and it had been several hours since she had started. True, a transmission to one of the colonies on Mawr was a possibility, but even in the face of imminent invasion it was deemed unsafe. All the research that the outpost at Furies Gate had conducted was to remain undisclosed until it had been vetted by both the Temple of Science on Tython and the Science Academy of Dash-Dera at Kalimahr, and a transmission of that size could be intercepted fairly easily.

And so, Ayaah had been stuck with the most boring task of the whole evacuation. To be fair, she did have a book to read, but she was nearing the end by now. And her tea was getting cold.

“They’re not even here, and I hate them already,” she said, as she put away her mug. It clinked against the smooth black surface of her desk. It was one of the few pieces of furniture in the room still left—most other desks and chairs have already been dismantled and packed up. Only brighter spots on the grey floor spoke of their past presence.

“Are you complaining?” Ashara asked, as she peered out from a workstation that she had been dismantling. Her silver-blond hair was streaked with dust and her white skin was streaked black in places. “Because you get to sit comfortably and drink tea—I have to take everything apart so that it’s in transportable size.”

Ayaah gave the dathomirian an apologetic look, the tips of her lekku curling up in embarrassment. “You’re doing something, though. I’m just sitting here and staring at a progress bar.”

Ashara rolled her pale blue eyes. “Finish your book, honey.” She rubbed her cheek absent-mindedly and smeared some more grime over it. “We should have cleaned those things some time ago. Do you know how dusty they are?”“No one will care,” Ayaah replied, turning her chair around fully so she could talk with the other woman more comfortably. “We’ve got bigger problems to worry about – like those kriffing jerks who just have to invade us.”

“You’d think a system-spanning Empire would have found something more constructive to do,” Ashara said and dove back into the workstation.

Ayaah sighed heavily again and turned back to check the progress bar. Only three hours left… 

 

* * *

 

 

Valin technically wasn’t a Knight yet, but he was not about let that stop him. Nor was he going to let Kalimahrian policemen intimidate him. Sure, he was younger than some of them and they had more life-experience, but he was the one trained to fight in a war, instead of getting into shoot-outs with criminals.

“Look, kid,” a wiry devaronian man said, “you may mean well, but you’ve a sword and we’ve guns.”

Valin sighed and lifted the man into the air—only slightly so, just enough for him to notice it.

“I have the Force and you don’t,” he answered. “You have horns, but I don’t. I have tattoos, but you don’t.” He put the man back down, as he continued. “We can go on like this the whole day, but I think it’s better if we clear up a few things.”

He looked around—most of the policemen still looked decidedly unfriendly, but he could work with that. It was the dismissive looks that had been a problem, and now there were far fewer of them.

“I know you all know how to shoot,” he continued, lacing his hands behind his back. “And I also know that you can cooperate with one another. The thing is—I’m not here to teach you things you already know. I’m not here to tell you how to do your job. I’m here because you will need to start doing a completely different one.”

He looked around, wondering briefly if those people would have been more willing to listen to someone older or a full Knight. In the end, it didn’t matter of course—Valin was here and he’d have to be enough for them.

“I’ve been training for this sort of thing since I was thirteen,” he continued. “And if I’m going to have to talk more, then perhaps we can start with something useful instead of wasting time on idle chatter and waving around our experience. You will have to protect people soon enough, and from a threat you’ve not faced so far, after all.”


	4. Where Mern Comes to the Conclusion He’s Too Old for This

Daegen’s living room had become a war zone—to be exact, his clothes were fighting a losing battle against being folded and put into a bag. So far, they had been sorted into neat piles, and were taking up various spaces—nearly all chairs, a part of the sofa that was not occupied by Acaadi and the table.

Daegen himself was holding up Seer’s robes and examining them critically. Perhaps, if he spotted a tear, he could just leave them behind?

The green robes had their own symbolic meaning, of course. Daegen recalled a lot of poetical waxing about spring and new growth, and the future, but the stark truth of the matter was that this particular shade made him look old and gave his skin a green tinge. Out of all shades of green, they had to be exactly the one that made him look like a corpse.

“Stop looking at the poor robe like that, or it will start believing it murdered your whole family,” Acaadi said, failing to stifle his laughter. Well, at least he wasn’t sulking anymore about Daegen leaving—which was frankly ridiculous, given that Acaadi himself would be away from Tython soon and putting himself in danger to boot.

“He’s not screaming enough for that,” Tamid said matter-of-factly—the boy had decided to occupy the floor in front of Daegen’s bag and had been sneaking in rations, which Daegen had been pretending not to notice.

Well, Daegen had not expected the boy to show any understanding, given that he stubbornly refused to stray from wearing dark greys with a bit of blue here and there.

“Just sew some black fabric around the edge of the cowl,” Acaadi said, finally choosing to be constructive.

“I still don’t see why you’d make such a big fuss about _this_ ,” Tamid said, pulling his legs to his chest. “You don’t even have to wear it.”

“Because I can influence what I wear, but not the fact that the invasion is now inevitable,” Daegen said after a moment. He could have tried deflecting, but that would likely just upset the boy more, given that otherwise the boy would undoubtedly assume Daegen didn’t care enough about the coming war. He put the robe down, letting it hang over a chair. “I won’t be even able to influence when visions come—the presence of others who have them and the desert may help in making them more frequent, but there will be little I can do on my own.”

“If it’s of so little use, why even go?” Tamid asked. He seemed to brighten a bit—likely in the hopes that Daegen wouldn’t have to go after all.

“It’s not of little use,” Daegen replied. He’d rather stay—that was a given, but it was not an option. “There have been other times when seers have gathered together in the Silent Desert. It does work, in the sense that it makes visions more frequent, but there is no way for anyone to force a vision to come to them at their convenience.”

“There’s a temple in the Silent Desert,” Acaadi added, when Tamid looked like he might say something. To be fair, living directly in the desert was far from pleasant or comfortable, as Daegen could confirm from experience. “Well, other than Qigong Kesh, I mean. It’s smaller and only partially underground.”

“It’s structurally in good shape too,” Daegen said, as he sat down next to Acaadi, which brought him face-to-face with Tamid. “We will need to reconnect the power lines—the silik lizards like to chew through them.”

“That sounds suicidal,” Tamid said looking puzzled.

Daegen shrugged. “Nobody ever accused them of being intelligent.”

Acaadi shook his head. “They’re not very dangerous, really. At worst you will only lose a hand, unless you’ve really bad luck.”

Tamid turned to look at him with an expression of horrified disbelief. “Only lose a hand?” he repeated. “Not _very_ dangerous?”

“They feed on heat and energy,” Daegen said, deciding it was best to step in early, in case the boy got it into his head he needed to come and keep an eye out for silik lizards, out of all things. “If they attack you, it’s because you’ve wandered into their territory. They’re also not very smart, so I usually just convinced them to go somewhere else with the Force.”

Tamid settled back down, then, apparently no longer in the mood to worry about minor lizard-shaped inconveniences.

  

* * *

 

 

Mern was going to die in the coming campaign. He felt it in the Force—something of great importance was about to happen, once they reached the Empire’s newest conquest, and the only thing of great importance to Mern that had yet to happen to him was dying.

As odd as it seemed, the knowledge was comforting. There was no need for him to fear hidden blades, or illness, or his master’s wrath. It had been…

The short moment of serenity shattered before it had a chance to grow into something—tribune Da’nan had finished yelling at his officers, and motioned for Mern to follow. He fell in behind his master immediately, on the lookout for any threat. Not that he had to look far: the room was full of them.

The lower-ranking officers felt like a bitter bubbling sea—their jealousy was palpable, but although some of them were undoubtedly plotting against Da’nan, none of them were planning to move against him now. Even if he was growing old now, Mern was still capable taking them on and killing them, if they tried to attack.

Long ago, the thought would have made him proud. Now, it just made him feel weary.

There was no point in all of this. As soon as one of them finally climbed over tribune Da’nan’s corpse, he’d be doomed to die the very same death as his predecessor. He’d have his moment of glory, and then he’d die too.

No one remembered the name of Da’nan’s predecessor anymore.

“You are growing old, Mern,” Da’nan said, sounding as if the observation had just occurred to him. They had left the officers behind and were marching through one of the ship’s corridors. It was mostly empty, but Mern kept scanning it nonetheless—there was no safety in the cold gunmetal grey walls.

“Yes, tribune,” Mern answered. There was no point in denying it—the signs were as visible on his face as his tattoo.

“Are there any suitable candidates for your replacement in the last slave-brood?” Da’nan asked.

Mern opened his mouth, but somehow the words wouldn’t come out. A part of him thought that any resistance would be pointless. If Da’nan didn’t pick one of the children, someone else would. And even if Mern claimed none were fitting, Da’nan could still decide otherwise.

And yet.

Dying was not the worst thing that could happen. But a slow death? Helpless and trapped, sensing others growing weaker and weaker, and fading until there was nothing left? No one ought to be sentenced to _that_.

And now, his master was asking him to pick one who would live—and all the other deaths would be on him. 

“No, tribune,” he said. His voice stayed even and matter-of-fact. The hesitation had only lasted a moment.

The deaths would be on him—what did it matter if it was one more or one less?

“A pity,” Da’nan said with a shrug. “Then you will pick the one that seems strongest, and if they die, then they will die. There’s always more.”

“Yes, tribune,” Mern replied. The words tasted like ash in his mouth. Da’nan couldn’t force Mern to toy with his opponents, to prolong their deaths beyond what was necessary, so he found another way to make Mern choose something he’d hate.

No, he didn’t fear dying at all. It was what he’d be forced to do before he died that filled him with dread. 

 

* * *

 

 

Vev closed her eyes and focused. Finding the Infinite Empire was easy enough—it stood out from the rest of the galaxy like an oil spill in an ocean. But sensing anything within its murky depths—that was the problem. It was almost as if all the pain, fear, anger and hate had become an impregnable wall of static.

Almost.

She did know what she was looking for, after all.

Without Xesh—no, Tamid, he’d get all upset again if she forgot to call him that—without Tamid, there was no one to whom she had any connection, let alone the kind that’d let her find a specific person light years away.

But there were other ways. She needed to find the Force Hound that had been trying to sense them—she had their scent, after all.

It took a while—she needed to be careful. Gentle, where usually she’d aim for swiftness and wouldn’t have cared about anyone sensing her. She had far too much time to sense all the misery, all the pain and-

And it shouldn’t have mattered at all—she was away, they had been too stupid to run, too complacent, and yet, all of this sounded empty. She had been like them. A miserable, fearful creature, who didn’t dare to look farther than her own feet, lest it end in punishment.

It was just as she had thought to give up—that it’d be too much—that she found who she was looking for.

They felt like pain—cold spikes aimed without and within.

They also felt young, and lost, and- Not they. She.

A girl, bound tightly with fear and the Force, so that her anger didn’t break out and eat everything around her. And there was so much for her to be angry about—Vev couldn’t tell exactly but she sensed that it had something to do with kin and future.

“I’ve found Gal’vor’s Force Hound,” she said as she opened her eyes.

Rajivari looked up from a datapad he’d been studying.

“And you can find them again?” he asked, curiosity and apprehension visible in his features. For once, he was not pretending to be a statue.

“Yes,” she said. “I will know where she is. We won’t be caught by surprise.”  

 

* * *

 

 

His name was Jard. He clung to the fact as if he might have held onto a talisman. His name was Jard. He couldn’t forget it. Not this. His name was Jard.

There was a gaping hole inside him, a void into which all of his strength was escaping. He could sense others losing their fight against this void, their lives flickering out like fireflies in the face of a storm.

They forgot who they were, but not him.

His name was Jard.

He would not give into the void. It would not eat him—his name was Jard and he would not die.

His breath came in small ragged gasps, as he tried to raise his hands. They felt like lead and all he managed to do was press them against the plastiglass leaving bloody smudges against it. Where had his strength gone? Not long ago, he had been punching and kicking against it with all his strength.

Was it really not long ago? He couldn’t tell. Was it minutes, hours, days?

He couldn’t remember. No, he couldn’t focus—his thoughts were sluggish things that he had to wrestle into taking a semblance of shape. The void was in his head, growing stronger as he grew weaker.

It wasn’t fair.

The thought was a pitiful whimper—he would have cried, but he didn’t even have the strength for this.

Then, just as he was about to give in, the plastiglass opened and someone pulled him out. He blinked sluggishly, his head spinning from the sudden movement.

“Why this one?”

The voice was sharp, and the presence behind it felt like the void—forever hungry.

“He fought, tribune” the person holding Jard replied. Slowly, Jard was beginning to make out brown hair and tawny skin.

“I wouldn’t call it fighting,” the first voice replied. “But I suppose it’s a start. Make sure he lives.”

“Yes, tribune.”

Jard thought he should fight, but he was too tired. And there was something familiar about the way he was being held. Comforting.

He let his head rest against the person’s shoulder, eyes closing despite how hard the armour under his cheek was.

For the moment, he felt safe.


	5. Where Rajivari Decides Falling to the Dark Side Is For the Weak

“Your masters are weak,” Rajivari said.

Vev turned around, her skirt flaring out with the sudden movement. She wasn’t sure what shocked her more—the content of his statement or the disdain with which he had said it.

“They’re not my masters,” she said hotly. Then, once she had reminded him of this fact, she moved to the other matter—of how nonsensical it was. “The rakata have built a star-spanning empire. How could they have done so if they are weak?”

The old man shook his head, pursing his lips in annoyance. He had stopped walking, and was now looking out through one of the windows overlooking the mountains outside. The hallway was mostly empty, save for them and some plants that were busy being plants and not having any brains or ears. “You—and the rakata, and I suspect most of their subjects—conflate strength with power. They’re not one and the same, child.”

“Yes, well, how about you actually do your thing and _teach_ instead of patting yourself on your back for being so smart?” Vev snapped. A year ago, she would have agonized over the right answer, but by now she knew that Rajivari was not going to harm her.

She had taught him all that she could long ago, after all, and he had not dumped her in a dark little forgotten corner or worse. Probably because he liked having someone to feel superior to.

Rajivari gave her a long-suffering look.

“Very well, then,” he said. “Let’s try a different angle. Why do the rakata crave power?”

“Because they’re rakata,” Vev replied and shrugged. It seemed to be like asking why the leaves were green or why the stars shone. “It’s in their nature, just like it’s in human and twi’lek and wookiee nature to lose all semblance of a brain in the presence of a child that can only eat, sleep and-“

Rajivari held out his hand to stop her.

“I think this is too simple a view,” he said. She could hear him straining to be patient with her—which really was rather unfair. If he wanted her to understand things, he should explain them and not expect her to just guess what he meant. “But let’s try again. You were taught that you need more power. Why?”

“Because every person is out for themselves, and if I don’t use every advantage I have, then someone who does that will kill me,” she replied. Slowly, she was starting to get an inkling of what he was driving at. She was not sure if she liked it. How it would relate to her realization of how she’d learned to use the Force from the rakata.

“So, would you say that you were driven by fear?” Rajivari asked giving her an intent look.

Hesitantly, Vev nodded. She didn’t particularly like admitting that, but the logic was hard to argue with.

“The rakata think like that, correct?” Rajivari asked, and again, Vev nodded. “Are you afraid now?”

“No,” Vev said. “Do you mean that because they’re afraid, they’re weak?”

“Oh no, that is oversimplifying again,” Rajivari replied. “Being afraid is natural. It’s a reaction to danger. It’s your reaction that determines if you are weak or strong. The strong will face their fear and master it. The weak will let it guide their every step.”

“Well, aren’t they facing it?” Vev asked, feeling horribly frustrated. She thought sometimes that she ought to ask that someone else take her in as an apprentice—all the questioning and prodding and deliberating was just too much pointless, useless stuff for her.

“No, I don’t think they are,” Rajivari said. “They built their whole philosophy on their fears. Everything they do is dictated by their fears.” He looked at Vev then. “And out of this fear, they try to make others as weak as they are.”

She really didn’t like the implication of that. 

 

* * *

 

 

The briefing room was bustling with life—the rakatan officers were crowding the already cramped round room even more than the large table with an inbuilt holoprojector did.

Jenth watched the officers take their places. It was a messy process, one that always made her master impatient. One fight had already broken out between two legates, each of them claiming the same place and neither wanting to back off.

“Idiot,” Gal’vor sneered. Jenth guessed he meant the legate without a Force Hound, given that he was just crumpling into a pathetic heap on the floor, a smoking hole in his chest. “Sit, all of you, or I will have you killed and served to the slaves.”

That seemed to do the trick, and the last of the officers promptly sat down in the nearest chair.

“Good,” Gal’vor snapped. “Now that you’re all paying attention, we can start.”

Jenth continued watching from the side. There was no sign of danger so far, but that was not the only thing she was looking for. Later, her master would ask her for any details that might indicate someone was plotting against him.

So, she watched and tried to remember as many details as possible.

One of the tribunes had two Force Hounds—an older one in full armour and a young child. At least, Jenth assumed that they were a child. She didn’t recognize their species, only that they appeared to be some sort of biped felinoid with dark grey fur. There was a white patch over their face in the shape of the letter “dorn”.

The older Force Hound had put his hand on the child’s shoulder—Jenth wasn’t sure if it was meant to restrain them from something or as reassurance.

The next point of interest was a legate, who was missing his Force Hound, and then another legate who appeared to be unusually nervous. He gripped the table tightly, and his gaze kept wandering over three tribunes.

“In her wisdom, Dictator-Regent Ceh’let decided to send us to conquer a world we know very little of,” Gal’vor said. The officers turned to look at him, their expressions ranging from eagerness to loathing. “What we do know, is both promising and troubling.

“Two scouting missions have been sent,” he continued. “The first was predor Tul’kar and his Force Hound—we have lost all contact with them, and the tracker on their ship was disabled or destroyed. The second one was the Force Hound of Skal’nas.” Gal’vor’s voice was now clearly disgusted. “And yes, I am aware how ridiculous it is to have to rely on the word of  a house-pet, but her report is all we have. Apparently, the world is uninhabited, but has dangerous and large predators.

“It’s entirely possible this is the truth. It is equally likely that a house-pet has no idea how to scout, or that she got herself killed before she could find any sentient life.” He leaned forward, one hand resting against the table. “Whatever the case may be, there is something on this world that has a strong connection to the Force. And we will claim it for the Infinite Empire.”

There were no questions. Jenth knew that some had whispered that her master was a heretic, or that he was going too far—though she had never learned what it was that made people say that. But regardless of what the officers had been whispering behind his back, none dared to question him to his face.

“If it’s only beasts, we will stay and hunt to see how worthy they are of our arenas,” Gal’vor continued. “If there are natives, then we will teach them their place, so that they may join our glorious Empire fully aware how insignificant they are.”

He rose to his full height again, and waved his hand. “Attend to your duties. Dismissed.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Shae and Daegen had both told Tamid about the other temples on Tython, so he knew that Stav Kesh was in the mountains. He had also learned that the traditional way to get there for the first time was to do so on foot (or by being born there). It had seemed like a good idea at the time to follow the local custom, even if he wasn’t actually doing the pilgrimage to all of the major temples yet. The rakata were still far away, and there’d be plenty of time for the Knights in charge of the troops to find out all the details he could give them.

So, he, Shae and Sek’nos had all set off from a small communication hub at the foot of the mountains in the morning. The climb had not been too bad—although by now, he was starting to suspect that his definition of “not too bad” was setting a bar rather low, given that it tended to include phrases such as “at least no one was trying to kill him”. He’d enjoyed the view and the trip up until the plants had started getting rarer, and had been replaced by rocks and snow.

And now he was cold, and there was something following him.

“I think it’s a horranth,” Sek’nos said. He was uncharacteristically dressed in a puffy jacket, which he kept on adjusting every few minutes.

“If it is one, it should either attack or leave us alone soon,” Shae said, as she adjusted her hat. “It depends how close we are to their den, but hopefully it will get too cold for it to follow us soon.”

“Just what exactly can you lose if one of those attacks?” Tamid asked warily. After spending a year on Tython, he could state with certainty that asking that was the only way to find out just how dangerous something was. While not all Tythonians tended to be as blasé about things with too many teeth and claws as Shae, it seemed like their idea of what was dangerous was very skewed. Possibly because anything larger than a human toddler had some way of killing you.

“Whatever it manages to bite off,” Sek’nos said, as he attempted to readjust his scarf to keep all of his headtails warm.

“They’re not very good at running, though, the poor things,” Shae said. “It’s really a bit sad—they tend to have overdeveloped neck and back muscles, but their hind legs are rather weak, so it kind of looks like their backside is failing to keep up with the front.”

Despite himself, Tamid started snickering. Sek’nos laughed out loud, his voice carrying and echoing. Then, something made a sound that was part-bark and part-yelp, and a grey creature with far too many teeth and a ridiculous top-heavy build bolted out from behind a rock formation.

Its hind legs did in fact have problems keeping up with the front, but it seemed to manage running away nevertheless. Feral rumbled and stepped forward, but Shae patted her leg.

“No dear, leave it alone,” she said. “You’ll get something nicer to eat once we’re in Stav Kesh.”

Feral rumbled again, sounding quite a bit like she was complaining, but didn’t chase the horranth. She kicked the ground a few times instead, digging out some of it with her claws.

“Good girl,” Shae cooed.

“You’ve been here before, right?” Tamid asked, as turned around to look up. A part of the Tho Yor was visible above them, but he could barely make out the shape—the sun was gleaming of the metal walls and reflecting off the snow, so he could only just see the outline.

“Yes,” Sek’nos said, as he started walking again. “You can’t really learn about the Force if you stay in one place and with the same people.”

“It’s the same principle as joining the Rangers before you’re allowed to become a Master,” Shae added. “The Temples can be very different from one another, and so you have to step out of your comfort zone.”

Tamid sighed mournfully. “I just found my comfort zone.”

Which apparently was a lot funnier than he had thought, because Sek’nos started laughing almost immediately. He stopped a moment later, and gave Tamid a sheepish look. “Uh… That was supposed to be a joke, right? Because you look so serious and well-“

“It was,” Tamid said. He hesitated for a moment, unsure how to phrase what he did want to say. “I don’t think I really care all that much about where I am, but I- I don’t really know how to- how to be a person, I guess?” He shook his head. “I just- I’m glad you’ll be with me there.” 

 

* * *

 

 

There were worse places to live in than the Silent Desert. True, it was hot, and the muting effect of the sand extended several stories up (but somehow not underground), but Daegen would take any of that and enjoy it, rather than live permanently in Mahara Kesh on the sea, or in Stav Kesh in the permanent cold.

True, living directly in the desert, as Daegen had, came with its own share of problems. After the first two years, he had started missing bathrooms with running water, for one. But that did not mean he’d have chosen to move into Adyton, if it had been open then.

On the surface, the House of Visions did not appear to be one building. Instead, it was more like a small town consisting of blindingly white single-level houses. But once one entered such a house, it became clear that each was only an entrance to the labyrinthine structure beneath. Only the very central buildings rose above, reserved for those who thrived in the desert heat and sun.

Most of the time, Adyton was closed off, the entrances to the lower levels sealed.  Once every few years, a small herd of maintenance droids would arrive from Qigong Kesh and do any necessary structural repairs.

None of this would disturb Adyton’s serene, sepulchral tranquility. It was only if the seers needed to be gathered in one place, that the House of Visions was opened. Only then, did it come alive, as the hundred or so Force sensitives of different genders, ages and species made it into their temporary home.

Already he had run into a dark-skinned zabrak, who had been scribbling something in a notebook as he stood in front of one of the mosaics that decorated most of Adyton’s interior. The daughter of the Master of Knowledge was sitting nearby and apparently filling the zabrak in on the various happenings there.

“Oh, Master Lok,” she said, as soon as she noticed him. “Good day.” She then gestured to the zabrak. “This is Master Ters Sendon.”

Not bad looking, Daegen thought. The jagged black tattoos around his eyes made the amber shade of his eyes stand out more. His hair was quite long and black, tied with white ribbons in one of the Shikaakwan styles that always made Daegen wonder if it was meant to mimic lekku.

“Greetings,” Ters Sendon replied. He had a deep voice, and spoke with a blend of Shikaakwan and Kaleth accents that reminded Daegen of his own parents. “I’ve not had the pleasure before.”

“I’m glad that my apprentice is not here to disagree about the pleasure part,” Daegen replied with a grin.

The twi’lek girl gasped softly, but it seemed like she was too shy or too intimidated to ask whatever was on her mind. Ters, on the other hand, appeared to be fascinated. “Of course, you’re teaching the young man from the Infinite Empire. I don’t suppose he likes talking about it?”

“It depends with whom and on what subject,” Daegen replied. “But to be honest, it seems like a place I prefer not to learn much about.”

“Really?” Ters asked. Given his intent expression, Daegen had a feeling they were entering a conversation the zabrak really liked having. Well, he could indulge him, he supposed. There was no harm in talking. “I understand it’s rather horrible, but I think knowing more about any subject can only help us understand it better.”

That was a point that tended to be quite hard to disagree with. Daegen had heard of a few cases when someone had postulated that understanding evil, for lack of a more neutral term, would poison the person trying to understand it, but that seemed more like an excuse. Knowing someone’s motives did not mean agreeing with them, after all.

“I wonder how much the rakata understand of what they are doing themselves,” he mused, partially to himself. “It seems so… odd that they’d not realize how flawed their ideas are.” Then, he noticed the daughter of the Master of Knowledge trying to discreetly look around, likely looking for an escape from the boring adults. “But I suppose we will have time to talk about this at length—so perhaps we should do so somewhere more comfortable?”


	6. Where Child-Rearing Proves to be an Universal Problem

The peace Mern had found only a few weeks ago was gone completely. The child—Dorn—his master had forced him to choose as a replacement was a constant source of worry. The same tenacity that had let him survive long enough for Mern to pick him out was now working against him.

He had brought him to one of the training rooms, one with no surveillance, to try and work on that before it became a problem for both of them. It was too large a space just for them two—being there made Mern feel on edge, like it would swallow him up sometime soon. The fact that his feet sunk into the dark mats covering the floor didn’t help at all, nor did the unpainted metal walls.  

“My name is-“ Dorn started to say, but Mern covered his mouth with his hand swiftly. He glanced around, but it didn’t seem like anyone had heard. By now, it was a small miracle, given how stubbornly the boy had clung to his name.

“ _Dorn_ ,” he hissed, desperate to make him understand. If anyone had heard the boy… “This is what your master wants to hear.”

The child glared at him, and then (quite predictably, really) bit his hand. His teeth were needle-sharp and broke the skin easily, drawing blood. He’d have to clean that later—wounds like this liked to fester.

“I’m not your enemy,” he said, trying to find the right words. There were other ways to make the boy understand, ways he wanted to spare him from. “Listen to me. Please. I’ve been where you are now—you will only bring more pain on yourself if you resist.”

Dorn finally let go of his hand and drew away, curling up in a corner of the room, his teeth bared. His claws left gouges in the dark mats covering the floor. He watched Mern like this for a moment, until his posture relaxed.

“You’re resisting,” he said eventually, putting the emphasis on ‘you’. “He wants you to hurt me, but you never do.”

“I- I’m older than you,” Mern said. This was like an unfamiliar land. Not putting things he had learned into words; that was one of the things he still remembered from—from before. But having a child’s life depend on his words? That was new and terrifying. “He needs me until you are trained. For now, he cannot replace me, but he can replace you. Do you understand?”

The child watched him, yellow eyes narrow and nose scrunched up. “Why are you helping me then? You’re old. He will get rid of you as soon as he thinks you’re done training me.”

He really should have expected this question, and yet it took him by surprise.

“I’m going to die anyway,” he said after a moment. It felt strange to voice those thoughts. Almost like taking a step towards something he’d not be able to turn away from. “If you die before me, I will still die. That won’t change—but if I teach you, you will live longer.”

He fell silent then, unsure why he was even saying any of this. The child watched him for a long while, and then eventually asked, “What’s your name?”

He could have said it was Mern. He could have pretended that he didn’t understand the real question. But he didn’t.

“Garon,” he said. “My name is Garon.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Cala stirred her tea. The amber liquid was still steaming, the fragrance wafting through her room. She had a moment for herself now that Chand was napping, having worn herself out—she planned to read for a little while, as she waited for Idril to finish his lessons and take over watching Chand, and then, like any good parent, she’d try to make their living space look a bit less like a tornado went through it.

Right now, there were toys scattered over their sofa and a large sheet of flimsi on the floor. Chand’s latest artistic venture was still drying—little fingertips and handprints, and smudges in all colours of the rainbow with no discernible shape. Underneath it, Cala had spread a sheet of foil to spare the dark wooden floorboards. Back when they had been decorating, she and Idril had been quite happy with the contrast between the pale grey walls and white furniture. Now, patches of walls and furniture in Chand’s reach were covered with either patterns that made convincing impression of being abstractions and wobbly figures.

She put away her spoon, and picked up the cup to smell the tea, then took a sip. It was only slightly bitter, with the tartness of min fruit and sweetness of honey masking most of the natural taste.

There was so much to do, still—and not at home. She was skilled enough with a blade and a blaster—her mother had given her her first lesson when she was five in the latter—but there were others who were better suited to train others. No, for now, her task would be diplomacy and matters of interplanetary law.

It had been a thorny subject when she had been a Ranger, and it hadn’t changed since then. And then approaching war was not going to make solving things any easier. If only they had had more time.

The door hissed open, and when she turned her head towards the sound, she saw Idril. He had a stack of books in his hands, the top secured by his chin. The bright blue cover contrasted starkly with his skin in a way that reminded her of how the mountains around Vur Tepe looked against the sky.

“I don’t suppose the water’s still hot?” he asked, as he put the books down and leaned down to kiss her cheek. There had been a few times in the past, when their relationship was still new, that he hadn’t angled his head quite right and had managed to tangle his horns in her hair.

“It will only take a moment to heat up,” she said, as she put her cup away, so that she could pull him closer into a hug. “How was your day?”

“If I have to answer one more time why there are still lessons when there’s a war coming, I swear I will make all of my students write an essay on the subject _and_ tell them whose fault it is that they’re writing it,” he replied.

Cala laughed softly. “You cruel task-master.”

“And how are you doing?” he asked.

“I managed to convince a two-year-old that chatt leaves are not icky,” she replied. “I think that means I’m qualified to continue representing Tython to other planets.”

Idril kissed her forehead, his hands cupping her face gently. “You are better than qualified, love.”

Cala wrapped her arms around him. “And yet, here you are with your sweet words, flattering me into swooning.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” Idril replied and leaned forward to kiss her lips.

For a moment, Cala forgot all about wars and squabbling worlds. It was just the two of them and a moment of belonging. 

 

* * *

 

 

Ters had mixed feelings about his vision. On the surface, it had been unpleasant—row upon row of coffin-like pods and in each of them, a living being. Some had slumped bonelessly or curled up into foetal balls.  Others were scratching at the plastiglass, or banging against it. All of them in pain. All of them dying, their very life leeched away.

And amidst this, two figures: a brown-haired man with golden-brown skin and the letter “mern” tattooed over the left side of his face and a russet-skinned creature with an elongated head and eyestalks at the sides of it. They wandered for a while, until the man had stopped in front of one of the pods and pulled out a small grey-furred figure.

Later, he had found out that Knight Yanna had had a vision of the same man—a Force Hound named Mern. She had seen him sitting in silence, as if waiting for something, and that was it.

The Force was telling them something, no doubt. The man was going to be important in some way, but if it’d be only to Ters and Yanna, or to them all, they simply could not guess yet.

But this was not why Ters had mixed feelings. No, it was simpler than that—the vision took him to the House of Visions and away from the war. Even when he had been a Ranger, he had preferred avoiding conflict.

Perhaps it made him a coward, but he couldn’t help to feel that there _should_ be a way to avoid the conflict completely. Knowing that sometimes people truly only wanted to harm others, to bring war, was just so completely incomprehensible to him. They were sentient. Intelligent enough to build spaceships capable of faster than light travel. Surely, they should be able to find value in peace?

Anyone ought to be able to see that violence would only destroy things of value. That knowledge would be lost that could otherwise be shared. (And yet, hadn’t Hadiya been blind to the very same things? Hadn’t she let schools and libraries burn, simply because her opponents had used them as strongholds?)

“Is everything all right?”

Ters looked up from his untouched uxibeast satay, and realized he had been staring at it for what must have been minutes. Tasha was standing in front of him, her expression concerned. She had reached out with one slender, pale blue hand, but hadn’t touched him.

“Yes, of course, Tasha,” he said and smiled reassuringly. Even if she was an adult now, he couldn’t help still feeling protective of her—he still remembered the toddler and little girl who’d play doctor with her dolls. “Would you like to keep me company for a while?”

“Of course,” she said and sat down opposite to him. “I miss Kaleth.”

“This is not permanent,” Ters replied. After all, he was away from home too—the second one since he had come to Tython from Shikaakwa. And Adyton was quite unlike Kaleth—for one it was much smaller and decorated in a completely different style. It wasn’t that the decorative elements were all very eye-catching, but it was all ways tiny details that got you the most. “You will go back there soon enough.”

“You sound so sure,” Tasha said, and wrapped her slender arms around herself. “I can’t help  being afraid. There’s a whole empire and we’re just…”

“We’re going to be fine,” Ters said with all the confidence he could find. Their only chance lay in making themselves look like too much of a bother to conquer, after all. And they wouldn’t be able to do this, if they’d given up before everything had even started. “We were warned and we had time to prepare—something that others did not have. They won’t expect this. They won’t expect that seers like us will be organized and relaying all the visions we have.”

Tasha smiled then—it was pale and uncertain, but it was there. “You’re always so sure of yourself. You know, when I was little I wanted to be like you.”

“You’re doing fine, Tasha,” Ters answered. He hadn’t expected the compliment, and it had flustered him a lot more than he had expected something like this could. Somehow, he still had trouble seeing himself as a role model for others. “Give yourself time.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“I think you’ve taught me everything I can learn from you,” Vev announced as soon as he met her in the morning, after breakfast.

To say that it took him by surprise would be an understatement. Neither Ketu, nor Telaat before him, had presumed to know better than Rajivari when their apprenticeship would end. And yet now this chit of a girl claimed she had learned everything from him after barely a year.

“Indeed?” he asked, rising from the pillows on which he had been sitting.

The girl nodded, her white hair bobbing around her face. “Yes. You’re all about thinking, and thinking, and then thinking some more. I can’t do that. I do things. So, I should learn from someone who does things too.”

At first, he felt galled at the fact that clearly, the girl had put some thought into it, but then he thought better. She did have a point. They were mismatched—he had known that from the beginning. He had only meant to learn from her about how her connection to the Force worked, and by extension that of the rakata, and she had fulfilled that purpose.

He knew enough to be able to say this was not the way for him, or anyone on Tython, to follow.

“And what are you planning to do now that you’ve decided that?” he asked, curious to hear her ideas.

“I’ll go to Stav Kesh—yes, I know, I can fight already,” she said firmly. In fact there was a bit too much force in her statement, like… Rajivari stifled a sigh.

“What about Bodhi?” he asked. After all, if he was right, the girl intended to go there not merely because she wished to continue learning from a more suitable master. No, she was going to do all of this, at an inopportune time, because of Daegen Lok’s apprentice.

Vev seemed to grow flustered for a moment and her cheeks coloured slightly. “I- I will try that after the rakata are gone. I can help too—I may not know that much about their strategies, but I do know how they think.”

Rajivari didn’t answer—he merely watched her in silence. Eventually, she’d admit her reasons.

“I’m not doing it because I want  Xe- Tamid,” she said eventually, the words coming out almost all at once. She sounded offended and defensive. “You won’t understand. I protected him when we were little. And then we got separated, and you’d keep us separated still. I’m not letting you do that. He’s my- my friend.”

The last statement was not true. Rajivari was fairly certain she had meant to say “mine”, but decided to point out something else.

“He’s an adult now,” he said coolly. “He stopped needing protectors long ago, don’t you think?”

Vev glared, her tattoo rippling, pulled by her frown.

They were being unproductive, he suddenly realized. Was there really a point to this fight?

“Be as it may, I will not stop you,” he said. “If you wish to go to Stav Kesh, then the path is open. Learn how you wish.”

Vev straightened her back and gave him a look a Shikaakwan noblewoman may give a dirty cup. It was quite impressively disdainful, and perhaps if directed as someone else than Rajivari they may have been cowed.

“I don’t need your permission,” she said. “I only need my own.”

Despite himself, he couldn’t help, but to feel a fondness for her then. Mismatched as they were, the girl had learned something after all. 

 

* * *

 

 

Mern—no, Garon. His name was Garon. If he was going to die soon, he might as well die under his own name and not the one given by his master. Even if it would just be in his head.

Garon was standing watch, outside of his master’s quarters. The order itself had been unusual—it was late, and there was hardly anyone outside, except for a few slaves running errands, and extremally bored guards at each side of the hallway. One of them seemed to be napping. 

He glanced at the door, which remained locked just as it had been ever since his master had entered the room and sealed himself inside with Jard. Garon was supposed to make sure that no one disturbed him, but he had no idea what was going on behind the door. All he knew was what he had sensed.

For now, his master’s power was building up, like a thick choking miasma. Jard’s presence suddenly became muted, as if he were asleep. And then, something happened—there was pain, and-

Nothing. Or at least nothing Garon could sense. And yet, he knew what exactly had happened. He knew because the same had been done to him, and every other Force Hound. A part of him had been locked away—he could still hear its whisper sometimes, when Da’nan did something he truly hated.

And now that it was done to Jard, Garon could do nothing: only was stand outside and keep others out. He couldn’t even go inside—it would be pointless now that the harm was done. Besides, Jard was still unconscious. He wouldn’t remember any of it.

And the child still had so much to learn. It was better to let it happen, to let his master do whatever he was doing, than take the risk. If he died too early, who would protect Jard? Who would ensure he could survive as a Force Hound?

So Garon remained where he was, only occasionally fingering the hilt of his ‘saber, as his master’s power ebbed and flowed. 

 

* * *

 

 

Da’nan chanted prayers to the Master of Subjugation as he weaved suggestions into the slave-child’s mind. Long ago, he had tortured his tribune into revealing the ritual, so that he could claim his own Force Hound—perhaps it had been a mistake, given that Mern seemed to shrug the suggestions off every time.

Or perhaps it was Mern himself—others had commented that he was too old when the raiding party took him away from his little insignificant world. Still, even partially indoctrinated, Mern had been useful, and his few quirks were worth putting up with in the greater scheme of things.

Still, Da’nan hoped he wouldn’t have to put up with a slave who might decide an order was too much and snap again. He was getting too old to tolerate this.

The slave-child mewled and writhed, unconscious but still in pain. Pain was crucial – it solidified the suggestions, made them take root in the Hound’s mind and lead their thoughts away from dangerous avenues.

Da’nan felt his throat getting parched. The prayer was really far too long, but then he wasn’t about to risk failure or partial success by shortening it. If he had to croak out the last syllables, so be it. The suggestions needed time to become of the slave’s thought process, and offending the Master of Subjugation at this point would be simply stupid.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help to feel relieved when the prayer had finally ended, and so did the ritual. The slave-child grew still again, its breathing even once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for anyone who never played SWtOR and has no idea who the characters are--meet the Jedi Founders from Legends: Cala Brin, Ters Sendon, Rajivari and Garon Jard.
> 
> You can listen to each of them sumerize their ideas on what the Jedi should be here:
> 
> Garon: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6FQ_w6vUzOI  
> Cala: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQ0oqfI6vQc  
> Ters: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOUOJ8C11RQ  
> Rajivari: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eYQXwEDc8gk
> 
> As well as here:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cl-wgA17fJ8&list=PL33A1C9A0EE42140C


	7. Where Some People Learn Valuable Lessons, But Not All of Them Can Profit

The natives were either beings endowed with a very healthy sense of paranoia or had been warned. Those were the two most likely explanations for the enormous minefield that separated the eighth and ninth planets in the system. No matter what the reason was, they were prepared.

It had been Gal’vor and his followers, who weren’t. Several were still on the flagship, clustered in something approximating a semi-circle on one side of the bridge, others were on their own ships and appeared as ghostly blue holograms. Around them, the bridge crew worked in respectful silence, not daring to move from their places once they have given their report.

The exception was Orsaa, who had the gall to protest against Gal’vor’s plan.

“Spare me your gutless whining,” Gal’vor said with disgust as he leaned forward over his command console. The holographic image flinched, as it likely dawned on Orsaa that Gal’vor’s patience had ran out.  “If I had any doubts of your lack of fitness for your position, Orsaa, you’d have dispelled them with your protests now. You will probe the minefield. If your shields hold, I will not execute you for cowardice.”

The legate made a few abortive attempts at saying something, before finally saying, “Yes, predor.”

The hologram flickered out, and Gal’vor turned towards the screens that lined the walls of the bridge. There was almost a total silence, the only noises made by machines. All living beings waited for the results without so much as a sigh.

On the main screen, one of the small red circles that represented his capital ship’s escorts started moving towards where they had found the mines. It took a while, but eventually, Orsaa had entered the minefield.

Another moment, and the mines exploded.

“We’ve lost contact with legate Orsaa,” a comms specialist said turning around from her station to face Gal’vor. She was a slender twi’lek, green lekku curled around her neck protectively.

“Scans report that his shields did not hold,” Drallaa—his sensor monitor—added. His station was closer to Gal’vor’s command station and slightly roomier than that of the slave-crew.

“Start sending in the transports,” Gal’vor said. It would take some careful piloting, but the opening made by Orsaa, and before him Wa’tan and Ver’lat, seemed large enough to allow the transports to pass in several tight clusters.

He watched the first transports form into a group and fly towards the opening, when Drallaa made a surprised noise.

“The mines are moving!” he barked.

“Retreat!” Gal’vor snapped, but it was too late. The initial group of transports was lost, engulfed by a raging inferno.

That had been surprisingly cunning, Gal’vor thought, as he licked his teeth in anticipation.

“Well, well,” he said. “We may have found a _challenge_. We can’t waste any more escorts or fighters. Let’s find another solution.” 

 

* * *

 

 

It had been almost at the last moment that Rajivari decided to come to Stav Kesh with Vev. Even though strategy, tactics and warfare had not been his main area of interest, he did have something to contribute. After all, he did have insight on the nature of the rakata thanks to Vev.

Technically, so did Vev, but the girl was not likely to attribute enough importance to this type of knowledge, or if she did realize its significance, she would phrase it in her own run-on way. No, Rajivari had to make sure that Lha-Mi and his Knights knew on his own.

And so he found himself in a spacious meeting room—the impression strengthened by the pale walls and the fact that the only piece of furniture was a low table.

The Master of Martial Arts was now accompanied by two senior Knights, and three Rangers. They had formed a circle, each taking a pillow on the floor.

To Rajivari’s right sat a large woman with dark skin and red hair. Noortje Eilidh, he remembered—clearly, she inherited the unusual colouring from her mother’s side. Next to her sat a red-skinned twi’lek; one of the Rangers, though Rajivari did not know him by name. He and Knight Eilidh were clearly acquainted, given that they had been chatting when they entered.

Lha-Mi had sat down directly in front of him, and had laced his lower set of hands on his lap, his whole posture expectant. To his left sat the other Knight—a grey-furred wookiee matriarch. If Rajivari remembered correctly, her name was Krrsaalla and she had been Lha-Mi’s closest advisor.

The two remaining Rangers were a pair of dathomirian twins—two identical men, their bald heads crested with small blunt horns like those of a zabrak. Unlike zabraks, they had chalk-white skin decorated with flowing dark-purple tattoos.

“You believe you have found out something important about the rakata and their culture?” Lha-Mi asked as he inclined his head towards Rajivari.

Rajivari shook his head. “I don’t think they can have a unified culture, given how large their empire apparently is. But I think I understand their preferred method of using the Force and how it’s actually a weakness.”

“Do go on,” Lha-Mi replied . He seemed to be sceptical, but then Rajivari supposed he couldn’t expect anything else from him. He was acutely aware that his opinions on the place of Force-sensitive as the rightful leaders had done some damage to his reputation. Not enough to dismiss anything he’d say, but enough for the councillors to treat his words with caution.

“What both Vev and Tamid have been taught is based on fear,” Rajivari said, as he laced his hands on the table. “And the same seems to apply to the rakata themselves, at least from what Vev had told me of their society. They want to be strong to protect themselves from others—they live in a world that is constantly out for them—a world full of threats. No one can be trusted.”

“Don’t we live on a world full of threats?” the twi’lek commented, although the amusement seemed to be forced. His lekku had wrapped around his neck protectively, belying his unease.

“Tangible threats,” Rajivari replied. “Threats we can name, see and defeat. How can you tell you are truly safe from betrayal? How do you know that your wife, your servants, or anyone else are not plotting against you just now? Those are the questions that the rakata find fundamental to their existence.

“They do not ask: how do I make this world, this universe better? For them, this will never be a question worth asking, because it does not concern survival.”

“And they will expect us to be the same, won’t they?” Knight Eilidh guessed. She brushed a strand of her hair that had slipped out of her braid behind her ear and continued. “This will also weaken their chain of command—their commander cannot trust his officers fully.”

“It’s more than that,” Rajivari said, a satisfied smile creeping onto his lips. It all lined up so nicely, once he had the idea. “They’ve built their culture on the idea that strength is power—which means that loss of strength leads to loss of power. If we make their commander appear weak before his subordinates, they may decide that he is no longer fit for command.”

Lha-Mi studied him and after a moment, asked, “And what else can you tell us? This is useful, of course, but I know you—it’s not all that you have figured out.”

Rajivari nodded. It was quite nice that not everyone had forgotten he was one of the most intelligent people on the planet.

“There is more,” Rajivari said, only just stopping himself from grinning. Being too proud wouldn’t do. He was not Daegen Lok, and would not be smug. “Their way of thinking seems to be centred on building boundaries—not healthy ones, mind you. It’s not about one person disliking someone rearranging their clothes, but rather about letting no one close to you.

“If you cannot trust others, if you view them as obstacles and enemies, you will hide your strengths and weaknesses from them,” he continued. “And that's still not all—everyone is a means to an end. Everyone can be sacrificed, if this means that your goals are reached. Nothing and no one matters, but yourself.”

The left-most twin narrowed his grey eyes then. “Wouldn’t that lead to issues with cooperation? If I don’t know what my subordinates can or can’t do, I can’t command them to my best ability.”

“I wouldn’t bet my life on it,” Lha-Mi said, caressing his chin with his upper right hand. “They have managed to conquer a significant chunk of the galaxy, it seems, so they can’t be incompetent. But it’s worth testing, if we can find a way to do it quickly and reliably.”

_“That’s easy enough—their very outlook will be their own undoing_ ,” Krrsalla said, turning her massive form towards the Master of Martial Arts. “ _They will waste their resources—you’ve seen them sacrifice several ships already just to find out how the mines work, haven’t you, Lha-Mi? They will keep on doing it—they will try to bury us under their troops and treat them as cannon fodder.”_

“We will only need to avoid getting overwhelmed then,” Lha-Mi said drily. “I think it’s time to see what Tem has in store—we need a way to thin their ranks as soon as possible.” 

 

* * *

 

 

The rakata had been too fast. They had managed to create a large enough opening in the mine-shield for their fleet to pass safely. True, they had lost several ships, before they came up with the idea of hurling asteroids against it, but nevertheless, they were in the inner system, the ships already scattering towards various targets.

Tamid watched the holo, his hands balled into fists so tight his nails were digging into his flesh.

It wasn’t fair.

The thought was ridiculous, really—since when had anything ever been fair? And yet, it would not leave him. That all that effort had bought them so little. It took all of his effort not to cry.

Then, he felt Shae’s hand brush against his, and a moment later Vev put her own on his elbow. He let his fists uncurl and took Shae’s hand, letting the touch ground him.

“Perhaps we can force some of their ships into the mines,” Lha-Mi said. The Master of Martial Arts had been studying the holo in focused silence for several minutes, before making the pronouncement. “If we send stealth ships with Rangers, who will push the mines at the ships, perhaps?”

Beside him, Tem Madog was scratching the fur on his beard. “I’ve a better idea—currently, the mines will follow anything that triggers their proximity alert. If we reprogram them, they could fly into their ships based on coordinates we provide.”

“We will eventually run out of mines, though,” Lha-Mi said. “We need a way to stop them—preferably in space.”

They turned to Tamid then.

His first instinct was to flee. He did not like so many people watching him, even if he couldn’t sense any hostility from them. But he wasn’t going to run. He was there to help in any way he could, and that involved advising Lha-Mi and the Tythonian forces.

He looked at the hologram, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Infiltrating one of their ships in space might be possible once or twice,” he eventually said. “There are a few weak points where you could get in relatively unnoticed, but they will catch on eventually. So you will need to pick one that will cause a lot of damage to the fleet.

“If you could free the people powering the ship, you’d leave them dead in the water.” It was so odd—almost unreal—talking about strategy instead of simply listening as others formulated it. “Or if you could get on the capital ship and kill the predor in charge—that’d work too. Without him, the others will start fighting until one of them manages to kill all of his rivals.”

“That won’t be easy, though,” Vev said. “He will be heavily guarded, and so will his capital ship. If you really want to kill him, it’d be better to lure him out.”

“ _That_ won’t be easy either,” Tamid countered. “He might come if you tell him you want to negotiate, but he will come with enough troops to kill all of the negotiators and then some.”

“Let’s start with disabling as many of their ships as we can,” Lha-Mi said. “While we do this, Tamid, Vev, please prepare the schematics for insertion points. If you can give us estimates of how many guards we may be dealing with and any close and long ranger scanners we may encounter that’d be very helpful.”

He didn’t add ‘dismissed’, which Tamid had been expecting, but it was clear the meeting was over. They all had things to attend to. 

 

* * *

 

 

Roughly thirty training droids stood in a row under the wall in the training room. They were spindly, with limbs that doubled as weapons. To Garon, they almost looked like skeletal rakata, their bodies charred black in a fire. They stood out sharply against the gunmetal grey walls of the training room.

Garon had been watching Jard fight three of them for a while now. They were no replacement for a living opponent, but the child was nowhere near being ready to face one. He had the reflexes, he had the determination, but he lacked experience sorely. Maybe in a year, he’d stand a chance of surviving on his own, but right now?

Right now, a single-minded machine had disarmed him and ground to a halt.

“What did you learn?” Garon asked, just as Jard kicked the droid. The child yelped and glowered at the machine, as he hopped away from it.

“I shouldn’t kick droids,” he said sullenly. “I’ll only hurt myself.”

“That is true, but it wasn’t what I was asking about,” Garon said, as he got up. He felt a pang in his left leg—the one he had broken several years ago. “Sit and watch.”

Jard moved out of his way and curled up in a way that made Garon’s spine twinge on the side of the room. Garon clapped and the droids reactivated. They were simple things—they were only meant to help Force Hounds and the occasional bored rakata train their basics, and nothing more.

The fight, if one could call it that, didn’t last long. Garon disabled the first one by diving under its arm and pushing it into the training blade of the one behind it. The last one went down after a strike to the centre of its chassis.

He opened his mouth to speak, but there was something-

No, he was going about this the wrong way. He could tell this much. He was focusing so much on what he had hated about his training that he hadn’t actually spared any thought to what Jard _needed_.

Slowly, he sat down on the floor again, his legs crossed.

“Did you ever learn anything like fighting before?” he asked.

Jard shook his head.

“Anything that involved a lot of moving?” Garon persisted. There had to be something that’d help them both. Did he remember anything from before he was captured as a child? “Dancing?”

It wasn’t all that close really, but it was the best he could come up with. It did involve complicated, rapid movement.

“Boys don’t dance,” Jard said. Then, he scrunched up his nose—it seemed to be his equivalent of a frown. “You didn't use this Force-thing you told me about much. You could have smashed them against the wall.”

“Or against one another, or tear off their limbs, yes,” Garon replied. “I was trying to show you how to move in a fight. But since you brought up the Force, you don’t have to use it in such unsubtle way to win—it will tell you where you need to be, if you listen.”

“How do you do it?” Jard asked.

“You listen,” Garon replied. It had been so long since he had learned how to do it that he wasn’t even sure if he could explain it to someone who had not yet grasped the idea. “The Force connects everything. This is how you can sense that there are others around you.” He gestured with his hand around them, and Jard looked around as if trying to see something invisible. “It connects you and me, the droids and the ship… It also links the present with the future. It lets you know where the next hit might land, or where the droids will move.”

Jard frowned. “But how do you do it?”

It was finally then that something half-forgotten decided to resurface in Garon’s mind. “Close your eyes,” he said. Jard seemed confused, but obeyed after a moment. “Focus on your breathing. In and out.” The words were coming easier now, like he’d never forgotten his first lessons at all. “Feel everything around you. Sense how it moves.”

And then, he failed. He should have tested the child. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even mimic striking him. His hands remained on his knees as he watched the boy meditate. There had to be a better way—some way of teaching the boy that would not hurt him, but Garon couldn’t think of anything he could do. 

 

* * *

 

 

Ters sat cross-legged in the middle of his room and centred himself. Visions couldn’t be forced, but they usually happened when one’s mind was relaxed—either in one’s sleep or when meditating.

They _needed_ to know. They _needed_ the advantage.

Neither thought was helpful in his endeavour, but they were the result of his situation. No one would say it out loud, but all of those who were in the House of Visions were under pressure. They were not the only hope to survive, but if they failed…

Ters’s visions had rarely been full—sound, smell, touch and sight. Most often, he’d hear snippets of sentences. Not lately, though. It was as if the Force itself wanted him to experience them fully.

Just like now. First, he saw the creatures—they bore some resemblance to the rakata, but where the rulers of the Infinite Empire were gracile, they were robust: not just tall, but bulging with muscle. Some had triangular heads, with the eye-stalks forming the base, while others sported bony crests that obscured the shape. They wore armour, though it mostly covered their torsos, leaving the legs and arms bare.

The leader swivelled his eyestalks back and forth and snapped something harshly. The sounds came out distorted—either by the size of his teeth or the wideness of his mouth.

The other creatures formed up around him—the formation was rather loose, but it held as they ran towards-

Ters saw it then. A farming settlement was a few klicks away—he could smell fertilizer in the air and see the wind turbines that would provide energy to their buildings.

He didn’t learn what the creatures did—or would do—to the farmers. The vision ended just then. Ters took a shaky breath and tried to focus again. This could be important, and he’d only be able to help if he could say where those beings would land and when it would happen.

There was one thing that he was certain of, though: the farm was on Kalimahr. The lack of the heavy defences that characterized Tythonian farms betrayed it.


	8. Where Space Is a Dangerous Place

Bel could have asked for a different assignment. There were other Rangers who were equally good pilots as her. She and Jaume had been planning to finally start trying to have a child, just before Tamid Rann had crashed on Tython. They had to put it aside afterwards, of course, but it was a good reason to request a safer job.

But she hadn’t done that.

Everyone had a good excuse not to take the dangerous missions, but it didn’t change the fact that someone had to take them. So, she squashed the thought and got into her ship. She chased the starfighters that the rakatan capital ship disgorged en masse.

In the heat of the chase, she didn’t remember that a stray shot could set her ship’s oxygen supply on fire. She didn’t remember her frantic flight from Furies Gate to the colony on Mawr’s moon Liels, while her ship burned.

That only came back when she was safe and on the ground.

She could have asked to be taken off the roster because of that, too—because the dreams were back, because she jumped when someone turned the light on suddenly or when she smelled smoke.

But she didn’t. She didn’t, because she had survived once and had recovered. She wasn’t about to run because her own mind couldn’t tell when it wasn’t in danger anymore.

And so here she was, navigating the cantina. Rows of tables surrounded her, with other Rangers trading stories while they enjoyed their free time between assignments. It was one of the few places in Akar Kesh that wasn’t boring in a dignified, understated, beige way. Instead, generations of Rangers had marked it as their space, with message boards and dart shields on the walls, as well as graffiti scratched out on the surface of the tables.  

Bel grabbed something to eat from the counter without paying too much attentions and sat down with two other Rangers at the nearest free table. One was a slender male togruta she didn’t recognize, and the other was a grey-furred togorian—one of the older career Rangers.

“Their pilots aren’t that great,” the togruta said. One of the white markings on his face was scarred over. The scar was pulling at his eye slightly, making it droop.

“They make up with numbers, instead,” the togorian answered, then turned to Bel. “Bel Zana, right? I’m Acaadi, and this is Selda.”

 “That’s me,” Bel answered with a self-deprecating grin. “The woman who managed to annoy a nest of furies.”

 “And lived to tell the tale,” Selda added. He raised his glass in a mock-toast.

“I plan to have some more stories to tell,” she said and took a bite of her lunch. It was pre-prepared and reheated, with seasoning that was clearly the work of someone from Nox. Bel felt her eyes water.

  

* * *

 

 

The plan, like any good plan, had lasted until the third minute. Fortunately, by then, Eli and his team of Squires had already boarded the troop transport. The ship started jerking in all possible directions, clearly in an attempt to dislodge the smaller Ranger ship that had brought Eli and his team in. It was absolutely not helping anyone to keep their footing—Eli heard some sort of wailing and roars from all directions, along with heavy thumps of bodies colliding with walls.

Then, a group of soldiers burst into the compartment, shooting as they entered. Eli and his team dove for cover, except for Iantha, who fell to the floor with a charred smoking hole in her midsection. Her lekku splayed on the floor, their green colour standing out even more brightly against the dark grey metal.

Eli pushed with the Force. The soldiers’ bodies hit the walls, and a few slumped lifelessly against them as he let them go. Most had dropped their guns on impact, dazed by the force of the hit.

They didn’t wait for the soldiers to recover and moved to restrain them. A few started resisting, and eventually they were left with three survivors who had been tied together, and they could go further into the transport.

Eli glanced at the doors to the sides. Someone was pounding against them. He wasn’t sure who it was—the emotions were mostly a primal sort of anger, and he thought that it was safest to leave them locked inside.

Shyrr had cut an opening into the door leading further into the ship and the carefully clambered inside. However, it seemed that the soldiers that attacked them initially had been all the defence on the ship.

Then, the doors behind them opened, and hulking creatures burst out of the compartments. A number of them threw themselves at each other, while several rushed towards the captive soldiers and the dead.

Some had noticed Eli and his Squires and turned towards them.

“Get the pilot to land,” Eli hissed, as he pushed all that he could to plug the hole in the door. When Shyrr and Daene rushed away, he barked at the others. “Help me hold those in place. And comm Iillsa—tell her to pull away.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Ran-Era sighed as he observed the smoking remains of his experiment. According to his calculations, the compound should have been stable at this temperature. It should definitely not have blown up in the spectrometer. It was possible he had made a mistake in preparing it, but he doubted that. Still, there was only one way to find out.

With another sigh, he started to drafting a request for more materials in his head. Everyone and their mother were still raving about the plasma swords—which, to be fair, were quite amazing—but it was getting a bit tedious lately.

It wasn’t like the swords could replace explosives, after all. Not in peacetime, not during a war.

As he considered his request, he set up his scanner to see what it could tell him about the end result of the explosion. It beeped steadily, as he carefully examined the remains of his explosives.

Idly, he looked around at his surroundings, taking in the lush green forest just a few kilometres away. The land around Vur Tepe had always been verdant, with its rich volcanic soil.

“Do you think this is what you should be doing now?” Gyal-Tsen asked, as she set up her own scanner, her slender fingers moving with stunning dexterity and accuracy.

She had insisted on coming with him. Which under normal circumstances would have been great, since they could have taken a scenic route back to Vur Tepe, except lately she had decided they needed to leave and do something more than building things.

“This is what I’m best at,” he pointed out. He’d put away his scanner to face her and was now watching her intently. “And so are you—it’s the best way we can contribute. It hasn’t changed.”

“I know,” she sighed and laced the hands of her lower arms. “I just feel so useless sometimes. My mother and sister are out there, putting themselves in danger and all I can do is mix chemicals.”

Ran-Era thought about what he could answer to that. He wanted to reassure her, but it wasn’t something a hug and a platitude would help with.

“The other thing we could do, is plant the explosives somewhere,” he said eventually. “And right now, the bulk of the fighting is in space. We don’t want it to move planetside, where we’d be useful on the front, right?”

Gyal-Tsen nodded. “You’re right.”

Ran-Era pulled her into a hug then. “Let’s wrap this up and see if there are any messages from your family, shall we?” 

 

* * *

 

 

Olera was quite used to fixing Rangers. Some of them showed up with very interesting injuries. Lately, though, it seemed that burns from chemical fires or electrical discharge were the most common. They had occurred often enough before the war, of course, given that space ships were not immune to accidents, but now that there were people shooting at them, they were definitely taking up the lead.

And then, there was Ayesha.

The zabrak woman was missing one horn completely (which brought her to three undamaged ones and four chipped ones), had a broken arm, a twisted ankle, four cracked ribs and several missing teeth. Not to mention external and internal bruising.

“I bet the other guy looks much worse,” she said, slurring the words slightly. She was sitting on the examination bed under Olera’s screen, where she displayed various facts for the use of her patients.

“Given that their ship burned up in atmosphere, I have to agree with you,” Olera said.

The Ranger grinned at her, a bit too brightly.

“This may feel strange,” Olera said, as she extended her hands over Ayesha’s arm

“Eh, I had this done before,” the other woman laughed. “Lost count of how often. Although, this is the first time I made a landing with half my ship missing.”

"Perhaps don't make a habit of it?" Olera suggested as she reached out with the Force to the bone. She carefully pushed the fragments into place, before starting to speed up the healing process.

Ayesha continued to chatter, describing the dog-fight in detail. She talked about how she’d ran into a transport ship that was heading for Shikaakwa and how she’d shot it down, and how that attracted enemy fighters. Which were accountable for half of her ship going missing.

“And then I figured, well, there’s a gravity well near, right?” she continued cheerfully, as Olera switched her attention to her ribs. “And I know my ship—she may be worse for wear once I’m done, but she’ll survive. So I make them chase me, angle my descent so that we crash somewhere uninhabited.

“They’re really not terribly clever,” she continued. “Or they like their jobs a bit too much—I thought at least a few would break off before it was too late, but they all went after me.”

She fell silent for a moment, then her cheerful aura dampening. Olera started healing the internal bruising.

“Ever made a really stupid bet as a kid?” Ayesha asked. “I did. And then me and the other kid wouldn’t back off. I broke my leg, they broke an arm in the end. It sort of felt like that, except more vicious. Like each of them hated all the other pilots and wanted them to be failures.”

  

* * *

 

Léionore waited. Her ship was drifting between bits of debris. She had turned off the power, let the engine cool, so that anyone flying by would assume it was just a wreck. Oh, a closer scan or a better look would betray the ruse, but by then it’d be too late.

Léionore herself was sitting comfortably in the pilot’s seat and watching the darkness outside. Occasionally, a piece of metal would float by, sometimes catching the distant light of Tythos. It had not been what she pictured herself doing as a Ranger, but then the same was true for most people.

Her musings on how sometimes things just didn’t go as planned were interrupted by a warning beep from the only part of her ship still powered up. Someone was here.

Someone her scanner didn't recognize as friendly.

The moment was there. Léionore restarted her ship’s systems. The steering console blinked to life just as the engine came back online. Though her ship was initially sluggish, she started manoeuvring as soon as she could, forcing it into full-thrust almost immediately.

It was a risky gambit, but she seemed to have caught the rakatan starfighter completely by surprise. The ship was only starting to turn, when Léionore managed to target it.

A moment later, it went apart in a sudden burst of flames that died almost as soon as it came to life. More metal joined the debris.

There was no other starfighters in sight or on her scanners. Léionore powered her engine down again. Soon, someone would come to investigate and she’d be there, waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Léionore is Lanoree Brock from Into the Void. I changed her name because Lanoree made me think of Lenor and I had trouble writing about her when I kept thinking about all those soft sheets and whatnot comercials.


	9. Where Life Doesn't Stop for a Mere Alien Invasion

The room was quite large and brightly lit, though there were no windows there. That in itself was not an oddity in Stav Kesh, as Tamid had found out, since so much of it was underground. Part of the illumination came from the large holographic display mounted in the circular table in the middle. It gave everything a ghostly blue tinge, making Lha-Mi and Vev look like ghosts in particular.

Although, Vev was a very brightly dressed ghost, then.

“The Rangers managed to provide us with the estimates of the rakatan numbers,” Lha-Mi said. “There’s only one ship of this type…”

He keyed something onto a pad that had been built into the table and the hologram changed from one showing the whole system to one a ship of very familiar design. Tamid breathed out in relief.

“It’s a capital ship,” he said. “If there’s only one, then it means they were only expecting to fight one planet. They’ll be stretched thin.”

Vev nodded slowly. “We haven’t won yet, though. Gal’vor can send a request for reinforcements.”

“This won’t happen until he’s certain he won’t be able to win, though,” Tamid pointed out. No predor liked admitting he couldn’t conquer some place without the help of another. They’d see it as a weakness, instead of a mere problem of numbers.

“Which means we’ll be operating under time constraints,” Lha-Mi replied, as he scratched his chin.

“Sort of,” Tamid said after a moment. It was a pity really, since if they'd had time, they could have just holed up and nipped at Gal'vor's fleet until all its strength was bled away. Of course, that’d have come with a risk of Gal’vor losing patience and dropping asteroids on some planet, so it wasn’t an ideal plan. “I guess we have a month or so, if his losses aren’t too big. But in that time, he’ll be doing his best to land terror strikes, so it’s probably best if we find a way for his officers to turn on him before then. That’ll buy us more time.”

“Stalling should do the trick, though, shouldn’t it?” Vev replied. “The longer he takes to conquer us, the weaker he looks. Eventually, someone will get ideas.”

Which brought them back to the time limit problem. Gal’vor wasn’t stupid—you didn’t get as far as he did by being stupid (as much as it seemed like it at times).

“If he loses troops quickly, it will also make him look bad,” Tamid said. “Especially if they never manage to land anywhere.”

It was not something that could go on forever, but if they managed to hold him off long enough… 

 

* * *

 

 

Initially, Vev had been wary of Shae Koda. There had to be something wrong with anyone who cooed over huge carnivorous monsters like she did. But then, it seemed that most Tythonians had a very poor grasp on what kind of animals were dangerous beasts best to be avoided, and besides, it didn’t seem like she intended to keep Tamid to herself.

And it was nice to have someone to talk to who was the same age, species and gender as her.

“How did it go?” Shae asked, as Vev settled down on the floor, opposite to the other woman.

She’d left Tamid with Sek’nos, so that they could use the free moment to go back to experimenting with plants, and gone to find Shae in her rooms. It wasn’t very different from the place Vev had been given at Stav Kesh—a sleeping/living room with a bathroom and a small kitchenette. The walls had been painted into a warm sandy yellow with geometric patterns just under the ceiling, and the furniture was plain and wooden. It was quite cozy, though Vev thought it somewhat boring.

Then again, it was a temporary living space, and she supposed boring was safer when people would come and go.

“We’re reasonably sure we’re not completely screwed yet,” Vev said. “Gal’vor only brought one capital ship. So if we get rid of him before he calls in reinforcements, we’ll be fine. The trick is getting rid of him on time.”

“So no pressure then?” Shae asked dryly, as she offered a plate of snacks to Vev. She took it gladly from the other woman and started munching.

“Lots of pressure,” Vev replied. “All the pressure. But we still have a chance, so there’s that.”

Shae nodded. “And have you thought about what I asked last time? About what you want to do once the war is over?”

The last time they’d talked about this had been not so distant—only two days ago. Vev had been fairly nebulous then, simply because it was something she hadn’t bothered to consider. There was a chance she’d be dead soon, after all.

Shae had pointed out there was a chance she’d live to be ancient, so there was no harm in planning ahead, which was actually a reasonable argument.

“Well, I’m good at fighting, and I know Noortje, so I could ask her to train me more and stay here, but I don’t know if I’d be any good at teaching people how to fight,” she answered, “and I think that’s required, so then I thought that maybe I could go to Bodhi and see what you can do there if you’ve good coordination.”

“Dance?” Shae said with a smile. “The current Temple Master is a dancer. I think I can find a holo of his most famous show…” 

 

* * *

 

 

Sek’nos had never been opposed to small crowds gathering to watch whatever he was doing at a given time. It was nice to be appreciated, after all. That said, he was also aware not everyone was fond of that, and that, for example, Tamid found it extremely stressful.

“This is the easiest way to see how I do in a stressful situation,” Tamid said.

“You’re the one who will be doing the hard part,” Sek’nos replied. “I’m just going to stand here and make sure people don’t come too close.”

Tamid nodded. “Some might be more interested that you’re wearing a shirt than in what I’m doing.”

“It’s cold,” Sek’nos said, as he adjusted his collar. “And don’t remind me, I get uncomfortable the moment I remember I’ve one on. The collars always make my head tails itchy.”

“And here I thought they might get stuck on your montrals, if you put them on in a hurry,” Tamid commented, as he picked out a small decorative bush that looked to be in somewhat worse shape than the others.

“That too,” Sek’nos laughed. “I haven't done that since I was a child, though.”

Tamid smiled back briefly and looked at the plant again, before reaching out with the Force. At first it didn’t seem to do anything, but it did catch the attention of a group that had been working in the greenhouse. A few started walking over, and Sek’nos dutifully motioned for them to stop a few meters away from Tamid.

He sensed Tamid grow more nervous than, but it was only for a moment. He seemed to focus on the plant again, and slowly, the brown leaves unfurled and started turning green again.

“Hey, look at that!” a selkath woman called out to the remaining people in the greenhouse.

Tamid faltered for a moment then, this time noticeably. The selkath woman looked at him apologetically, clearly ready to leave, but Tamid had regained his concentration again by then. The plant had turned green completely in the moments it took the others to come over.

“Where can I learn that?” a stout devaronian man asked.

“It’s a rare skill,” Sek’nos said. “Unless we make some sort of breakthrough, you need to be born with it.”

“I’m not sure,” Tamid said quietly. Now that he was the center of attention and no longer focusing on something else, he was visibly tense again. “It could be possible to train, if you’re already good with sensing living things.”

“That doesn’t account for what you just did,” Sek’nos answered. “Only sensing when they need to be watered and stuff.” He looked around. “But next we could find out if you can teach someone how to do it.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Noortje had a holoprojector installed into her desk. It was large enough to fit a holocall unit and still have space for her to work on, in case she needed to do something that required a desk. But right now, she didn’t need to do anything—it was the time for her weekly call with Sanaa.

So she had settled down in her chair with a mug of tea and waited for her little brother to show up. Eventually, the holoprojector blinked, and she accepted the call. Sanaa’s face and neck appeared, cast in blue.

“How is it going?” she asked.

“They should have sent you to train some militia or police force somewhere,” Sanaa said. Though the quality of the hologram prevented her from seeing some of the more obvious signs, Noortje could tell he was stressed.

Which, given the current situation, was to be expected.

“No,” she replied. “I’m needed right where I am—the children here must be taught. There’s no reason to turn their whole world upside down yet.” She shrugged. “Besides, teaching children and teenagers is different from teaching adults.”

She took a sip of herbal tea from her mug. She was lucky enough not to need anything else for cramps.

“I suppose you’re right,” Sanaa said. His lekku curled in discomfort, as he absentmindedly rubbed his neck. “I guess I’d trust all those people more, if I knew you were keeping an eye on them”

“I trained some of the people who are now training the planetary defense forces,” Noortje laughed. “Does that help?”

Sanaa shook his head. “Not particularly,” he said. “I know it doesn’t make sense—there’s one of you and far too many people who need to learn which end of the blaster they should be holding.”

Noortje shook her head. “Now you’re exaggerating. And really, I’m the one who ought to worry—you're out there at risk of getting shot down, while I sit safely on Tython and teach teenagers how not to cut off their own hands with lightsabers.”

Sanaa grinned then. “It’s not so bad. Their pilots are all Force blind. Outflying them is child’s play.”

Noortje smiled. Not because the words made her feel better, but because they were familiar. “You know you-“

“Need to be lucky all the time, they only need to be lucky once,” Sanaa replied in a sing-song voice. “I know. You keep saying that a lot.”

“It’s true,” Noortje answered, and shifted to sit more comfortably. “They could swarm you or tire you out…”

Sanaa nodded. “I know. And you should know I’ll be as careful as I can.”

“I know,” she said, smiling again. “Fly well.”

“And you don’t let any of those little horrors eat you,” Sanaa answered. The hologram disappeared. It was a much shorter call than they used to make just a year ago. Sanaa simply didn’t have the time anymore.

  

* * *

 

Daegen had made himself quite comfortable in his new room. It wasn’t exactly what he’d pick, had he chosen the furniture and decorations himself, but it was nice enough. The color scheme was paler than he'd have liked, and he had misgivings about the mosaic made from what seemed to be ivory, shell and bone. He supposed that if you did kill something, it made sense to use up all the bits.

He could have used a chair to read in, but as there seem to be a distinct comfy-reading-chair deficit, he had to make do with his bed and all the pillows he could pile up for back support, given that he had quite a lot of back to support. Really, sometimes he wondered why his body had decided to grow so much.

Of course, that usually passed when he had to reach for something high—or watch others reach architectonic heights with the use of chairs.

Then, just as he was done settling down to check his daily messages (something that he had been looking forward, both because Acaadi might have written and because Tamid apparently had a gift of picking very amusing pictures to illustrate points in his messages) someone knocked.

“Come in,” he said. It could be important.

Or it could be Ters Sendon, being far too curious for his own good.

“Am I interrupting?” the zabrak Master asked.

It could still be important, or at least interesting, so Daegen motioned for him to come in and sit down.

“I was wondering—did you know that Tasha’s visions are mostly sounds with very little visual?” Ters asked.

“I did not, given that she seems to think I eat young twi’lek girls,” Daegen said dryly. Perhaps he was exaggerating a bit here, but the girl was quite shy. “But this is curious—I take yours are different?”

“Mostly visuals,” Ters answered, as settled down on the floor. Daegen threw several pillows down so he could sit opposite to him comfortably. “If there’s a conversation going on, I will hear it, and usually I don’t remember any smells or textures.”

“Odd,” Daegen said. “It seems like I get the whole experience.” He drummed his fingers against his thigh, as he thought. “It’s a pity we’ve not found a way to induce visions, because I’d love to see which regions of the brain are active during one.”

“Why is there a difference, do you think?” Ters asked. Why he had chosen to study art was something of a mystery to Daegen, because it seemed like he was interested in _everything_. Then again, one had to choose something, and art was probably as good a choice as any.

“Likely for the same reasons some people imagine things as sounds and others as visuals,” Daegen answered, after a moment. “It’s clearly not all, given that it doesn’t explain why I have visions that engage all senses, even though I'm more of a visual thinker, but it’s a start.”

“We could do a study,” Ters suggested. “Who knows, maybe we will find something that does help to induce visions that way.”

“It’s worth a try,” Daegen agreed.


	10. Where The Rakata Work On Making Sure Everyone Knows They’re There

The star fighter was nimble and swift, and Cal would not have traded places with the pilots of the larger ships, even if they were free (and not freezing their fingers off). Inside the star fighter, he was a force on his own and not just a cog in the great machine of the Empire.

His proximity alert chimed, and Cal turned his fighter sharply to the left. It twisted almost on the spot as he dodged—one of the mines? It zoomed past his fighter, followed by another and another. Cal had no time to think what this meant, as he tried to dodge them—he only noticed that his fighter was not the target.

In the few moments that it took him to realize it, the mines—well, projectiles now—found their target. Explosions bloomed over the hull of one of the transports, as air vented into space through the holes that they created. Metal tore and crumpled soundlessly in the void.

Cal didn’t see any escape pods leave the ship.

He didn’t particularly mind—he had better things to do than pick up whoever would have made it to the pods.

Then, his comms came to life and the voice of his commander crackled in his ears. “Target the mines. Don’t let them get near any other ships.”

Cal looked to his navicomputer, but it wasn’t picking up anything suspicious. He looked up again, only to see another transport explode. He bit his lip as he realized what it meant—he’d need to fly close to the bigger ships and hope that he’d spot the mines coming.

He could do his part, of that he was sure, but could he trust the other pilots? Ersh was wary of him—he was a better pilot and her obvious replacement. She’d gladly get rid of him if she had a chance. Diya and Ləklel were both inexperienced. Perhaps they’d make good meat-shields for him, but he couldn’t expect them to do much else of use.

On the other hand, maybe Ersh could meet the business end of a mine?

Cal smiled to himself as he formed a plan of action. He’d show his commander just how good he was, and if Ersh did end up getting shot down… Well, he’d be there to take her place as squad leader. 

 

* * *

 

 

When Rialla had become a Ranger, she had quickly found out that patrol duty was among the most boring things ever once the wonder of being in space wore off. After a while, the star-dotted vista outside was just background, and she’d catch herself wishing for a change.

Clearly, there was merit in the saying about wishes coming true. She certainly hadn’t wanted to liven up her patrols by taking part in a war with an evil empire of doom. Now the dangers she could run into were not just illegal races, or the few weirdoes who thought attacking transport ships was a way to get rich. Now she risked being found by rakatan star fighters, or even running into one of the cruisers. The capital ship, thankfully, appeared to not be moving from its current spot.

And as soon as Rialla thought that, she realized that her scanners were picking up something. Half-led by instinct and half by a sense of incoming danger, she banked sharply, only just dodging some sort of projectile.

She looped around the star fighter—it tried to get out of her way, but the pilot wasn’t good enough to shake her. She could sense them—a little spark, dulled with resentment and anger, and underneath with that bitter with fear. Whoever they were, though, they were Force blind.

Rialla would be sorry for them later, but not now. Now, she was going to survive. 

 

* * *

 

 

There were two different types of transports: the ones that carried the Flesh Raiders and the ones that carried the other troops. While they were similarly armoured, and equally cumbersome, there was one significant difference: the drop-pods.

Shyrra cursed under her breath as she manoeuvred her ship into position, to get rid of the damned beasts. She had never asked any of their minders how they lured them into the drop-pods, it was enough that she didn’t need to worry about stumbling on a few lost ones like Yv had. He’d been lucky to only lose a leg.

“Where are the void-taken fighters?” she growled, as she only just dodged several missiles. “Useless rotten carcasses—they only care about their skins.”

_“Getting rid of your parasites,”_ a slightly distorted voice replied over the comm. Shyrra didn’t recognize it and didn’t care—what mattered was that her pursuit had something else to worry about.

She dove towards the atmosphere, knowing that she had to be quick. It would only be a matter of time before one of the enemy fighters would slip past the start fighters that were protecting her, and by then she needed to drop her cargo.

The angle was tricky—she had to make sure that she was close enough to the planet for the drop-pods to fall mostly safely, but at the same time avoid falling herself.

“Bloody natives,” she growled. “Why bother fighting, you putrid offal? You’ll die anyhow.”

It would have made her life so much easier. Just drop the cargo nicely, scare them into docility and leave. Simple mission. But no, that clearly was too much to expect.

One of the lights to her left started blinking red. Shyrra reached out towards the release button and mashed it. Another moment, which she spent fighting gravity, and the Flesh Raiders fell in their pods towards the ground.

A moment later, one of the enemy fighters streaked past Shyrra’s ship.

For the life of her, she could not understand why the pilot had not taken a shot at her, while she was pulling away. But well, if their stupidity would let her live longer, she’d take it. 

 

* * *

 

 

A week ago, Klearai had moved into her new home with Eilirena. With the war coming, neither of them had wanted to wait any longer—if they were going to die, they would die together. The party that had followed had been on the wild side, but who knew if they’d live much longer?

It seemed ages ago now, as Klearai watched the passing troops from her vintage point on the roof. Her father had been a sniper during the civil war—on Hadiya’s side at first, but then he switched to House Ryo. It meant that he got to keep his gun—the one that Klearai had inherited. She was the only of his children who had shown a talent for sharpshooting.

She took aim, picking the creature in the lead as her target. It was red-brown with a bony crest on its head. Like several others, it seemed to have already been in a fight. It was cradling its left arm, which appeared to be broken.

It had stopped now, and was looking around—and this would cost it its life.

Klearai breathed out and took her shot. It went through the creature’s head.

A moment later another fell— judging by the angle, it was probably Lyrr who had shot it. Klearai took aim again, as the creatures clustered into a tight knot.

Clearly, they were not used to sniper fire. How odd, she thought, as she shot another one. Didn’t they expect resistance? It was something she’d have to bring back to Knight Issha and Taxiarchēs Ruun. Even if she had no idea why the creatures had come unprepared for the war they were supposed to be waging, the information would be valuable.

Out of the corner of her eye, Klearai saw something small fly towards the clustered group of enemies. She ducked low—technically, she was high enough to be outside the grenade's blast radius, but it was better not to take chances.

She heard the dull boom of the grenade exploding and peered out after a moment. It seemed that their ambush had been a success. The creatures were either dead or worse, their body parts scattered by the blast. Klearai felt her stomach turn—it was one thing to shoot someone, and another to look at torn-apart bodies. But she needed to be sure: she would not leave a breathing enemy if she could help it.

Nothing moved. No one started screaming.

A slender canine with dark fur slunk out of one of the alleys: the first scavenger to feast.

Klearai got up from her position and sprinted towards the entrance hatch.   

 

* * *

 

 

Var-at-Issa breathed out in relief, as Ranger Illyn reported that the transport had been shot down before getting close enough to deploy its cargo. While the city platforms would survive being hit with those odd pods that had brought the monstrous shock troops to Shikaakwa, the buildings would definitely be damaged.

And if any of them hit the generators that were powering the mechanisms that kept the city afloat…

Var-at-Issa was truly glad he did not have to worry about this yet.

If they managed to keep any of the enemy troops from landing on Ska Gora, then he’d make a pilgrimage to the ancestor trees in the deep forest and spend a year there in meditation.

Var-at-Issa shuddered to think what would happen if any of the enemy troops landed in the vast forest covering most of the surface of Ska Gora. They’d disappear there, and if they survived, they’d be able to keep coming back years after the war had been won or lost.

They had plans for such a situation, of course, but he really hoped it wouldn't come to that.

“We need to speak with high command on Tython,” he said to Shel-en-Issa. The young woman nodded and turned back to her console.

The connection took a moment to establish. Eventually, though, Master Lha-Mi’s face appeared on the screen. The talid nodded at him, his expression curious.

“Shagina-Var-at-Issa,” he said, using Var-at-Issa’s full title. It was nice to know that some Tythonians knew how to use them—Ranger Illyn insisted on calling him “general”. Even if it was a one-to-one translation, he felt it was somewhat disrespectful, as it was also part of his name. “What news?”

“So far, no transports have managed to land or deploy troops,” he answered. “But once they do… It will take us years to get rid of them, if they land in the forests, or we risk significant damage if they hit the cities.”

Lha-Mi nodded. “We are aware of it, and we're working to prevent that.” 

 

* * *

 

 

The orbital ring around Nox had been equipped with proper battle stations by the time the rakata had come. There had been talk of detaching the lifts, but in the end, it had been deemed that the need for quick transport to the orbital starports was greater than the danger of the rakata using them to get to surface of Nox.

It had turned out that the point was moot, anyway. The rakata demonstrated very clearly that they had no intention of taking Nox’s factories. Several ships had been trying to haul asteroids and drop them at the surface, while others attempted to destroy the orbital ring.

Phet-lorh hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. He had napped in fits and breaks, between one alert and another. So far, their fatigue had not cost them. Unlike with Shikaakwa, none of the enemy transports had managed to send any troops to the surface. Several had limped away, damaged but still flight-worthy, and a few more had been shot down. None of the other ships have managed to damage the orbital ring or drop their deadly cargo.

Despite everything, Phet-lorh thought it all was oddly impersonal, for a war. He didn't know what the people he had been fighting looked like. In fact, he tended to forget that there were living beings inside the enemy ships.

He wasn’t sure why the idea bothered him. It was easier to shoot something down if you didn’t remember that there were people inside. And yet… and yet, he caught himself wondering about them.

Who were they? Why were they here, trying to conquer the system, when trading and working together could have benefited everyone?

He never could come up with a satisfying answer to those questions.

With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes and settled back behind the screen. It was empty still, with no sign of any attack. In a few minutes, his shift would be over, and he’d catch some sleep.    

 

* * *

 

 

The factories of Nox would not grind to a halt even as the orbital bombardment continued. Not unless the war was over and they were destroyed. And in the meantime, the Rangers needed their ships, and the planetary militias and armies their guns. There were computers that needed to be installed on the new ships, and so many other things.

Iridi did not like that. In fact, there were a number of things that Iridi disliked about the situation—the longer shifts, the greater workload and the constant reminders that they were working so that they could remain free.

She very much enjoyed being free, when she had the time to actually feel free. That had not happened in a while now, though, and she was starting to feel more and more torn between wishing all the contagious illnesses she could think of on the invaders and the same to her superiors. Surely, there was a better way.

Except no one seemed to have thought of any.

“Water?” Tyi asked. He was the new water boy—employed as a result of the management's peculiar logic. Apparently, before the water boys and water girls, regular employees spent too much time grabbing themselves something to drink.

Not that Iridi was complaining about getting free water brought to her workstation. She reached out and Tyi handed her a bottle, before moving towards the next workstation. Iridi opened it and took several gulps.

It was cool and tasted of metal.

Recently, she thought, everything had tasted of metal.

“Watch it!” someone snapped. Iridi turned around to see what was going on, just in time to see Harren push Tyi. The boy stumbled and fell down, the box with bottles landing on top of him.

“Hey! You could have hurt him!” Iridi snapped as she marched forward to check on the boy.

“He should watch where he’s going,” Harren growled. “And you should mind your business.”

“It is my business, if you get another safety inspection here,” Iridi snapped, as she knelt down to check on the boy. He looked rather dazed to her, but was starting to try to sit up.

“That was not my fault!” Harren yelled, and grabbed her shirt to pull her up.

Iridi felt her blood boil—what was that idiot thinking, picking fights with everyone? Without thinking, she threw a punch. It took Harren by surprise and landed square on his chin. Iridi felt something pop in her hand, but he let go of her collar.

For a moment, they stood and watched each other—a slender mirialan woman and a burly iktotchi. He looked almost comically surprised, his hand on his jaw as he rubbed the spot where her punch had landed.

Iridi took a step back, suddenly mindful of what she had done. That brought Harren ought of his stupor, though. He made another grab for her, one that she evaded, and tried to punch her. His fist never connected—others had left their workstations by then and Iridi felt herself being pulled back, while a pair of togruta she didn’t recognize held Harren back.

Naleen was the last to come running. The sullustan supervisor glared at them all, her black eyes narrowed in anger.

“Bring them to my office,” she snapped. “And someone get the poor kid to a doctor.”

Without waiting to see if her commands were obeyed, she turned on her heel. Iridi let herself be led, a sudden dread overtaking her. She had really got herself into trouble this time, hadn't she? 

 

* * *

 

 

Wrrysta found out that her cousin Yarua was dead twenty minutes before word came that the colonyon Madh had been obliterated. It had been the only colony on the moons of Mawr and Obri that had refused to evacuate, and her stubborn idiot of a cousin had still been there.

If only he had had the sense to come back to Kalimahr, he’d have still been alive.

Wrrysta had to wonder if it had been worth it—staying on the dark, cold moon outside of the protection of the major planets. She wondered about a lot of things on that day, as her body went through the motions of tending to the trees in her family’s orchard.

Why had no one been there to protect the colonists? Surely, their lives had no less value just because they were not on one of the major planets?

She knew the answer, of course. Yarua had told it to her in their last conversation. The colonists were so few that they’d be safer without military protection to draw attention to them. Their settlement on Mawr’s moon was an insignificant speck compared to any of the settled planets. It had no value to anyone but the colonists.

What a flimsy protection that had been. The invaders had chosen to crush Madh regardless of its insignificance, but try as she might, Wrrysta could not understand why.

Then, just as she was preparing to bring her basket to the others she had filled up so far, she heard something roar overhead. She looked up in time to see two fighters over her head—one was the familiar vessel of a Ranger, the other a design she did not recognize.

There was another roar as the Ranger’s ship fired its weapons, and a moment later the other fighter burst into flame. It angled down, falling.

Wrrysta watched, uncomprehending—none of that seemed like it could really be happening. This was Kalimahr.

War had come to Kalimahr.


	11. Where Assassinating a Predor Is Harder Than It Looks

Lha-Mi reviewed the list, as he considered each potential candidate for the mission. Picking them had not been easy—the insertion team would be in mortal danger, but they absolutely could not afford to prolong the conflict. The rakata needed to be defeated before they decided to call for backup.

And so, here he was with a list of people best suited for an assassination. He did not like it.

There was Knight Yanna, whom he was loath to summon back from the House of Visions, but whose skills would be invaluable. She’d be the team leader, and as her second, he would appoint Eli Varl—one of the younger Knights, a Ska Goran iktotchi.

In a similar vein, Lha-Mi had decided to send Tamid with the mission. While his knowledge was valuable here, it would prove even more so on the ship itself. He could not afford not to use this—not to mention, he had admitted to undertaking similar missions for his ex-owner.

But that meant he needed another person whom Tamid knew to go with them—Vev, while definitely qualified, had to stay behind, since she was their only other escaped Force Hound. Shae Koda’s talents were better suited for planetside operations—her biggest asset, the ability to form empathic bonds with animals, would be of no use on board a ship.

If Daegen Lok had been ten years younger… But he wasn’t, and while the ten years he had spent in the Silent Desert had not done serious damage to his health, he certainly was no longer as fit as he had been in his Ranger days.

Which really left him with only one choice—young Sek’nos’rath. The fact that he was strong in the Force and skilled in its use did not escape him either. He was not sending a defenceless child.

Calleh had recommended he add Olera Ter Aen as the medic, and Lha-Mi was inclined to listen, after reading her records. Tem had dispatched one of his engineers, Ran-Era, to join—a fairly young man to whom Lha-Mi was actually related through his partner, albeit distantly. Quan-Jang had suggested that Eille join as the slicer, given that she had worked with the rakatan black box longest and had been the one to decrypt it.

Now all that remained was creating a plan. 

 

* * *

 

 

Sek’nos looked at the sketches that Tamid had diligently been making for the last few days. They were fairly detailed—apparently, rakatan ships tended to be quite uniform in structure and so if anyone had seen one or been on one, they could guess what any other would be like.

A hologram of another, much smaller ship, was floating over the table. It had a similar design to the capital ship, but instead of three “arms” it only had two. Its hull was pitted and scored by fire.

“Bel has managed to capture this ship,” Lha-Mi said, as he nodded to the Ranger. Sek’nos had been trying not to stare at the large knotted scar that covered part of her neck and cheek, but his eyes kept being drawn towards it whenever he looked at her. “We will use it to get you to the capital ship.”

“You don’t have clearance codes,” Tamid pointed out.

“I’ll crash it,” Bel Zana said. “You just need to yell something about losing control and that they need to let you in, or it will cause structural damage.”

“And then, in the confusion, we will sneak out and find this Gal’vor,” Knight Yanna added, as she adjusted her short, dark hair.

“I should be able to lead you to Gal’vor,” Tamid said. “The problem will be avoiding getting caught. None of you speak low rakatan, and-” He trailed off then with a frown. “I could maybe try convincing anyone we meet you’re fresh slaves? Without the tattoo no one will know I was a Force Hound, and unless they are one, they won’t know I’m Force Sensitive.” There was another pause, and then he added, “Although we probably should avoid that. I don’t think I don’t know how convincing I’d be.”

Knight Yanna frowned, as she adjusted her short, dark hair. “Are the rosters stored somewhere? Maybe if Eille could access them, we could check the patrol routes.”

“That won’t help you with technicians and other personnel not on patrol,” Lha-Mi pointed out. “It might be wiser to rely on your precognition and on Tamid sensing them first and foremost, though if you can find a computer node, it shouldn’t hurt to check.”

“There will be patrols,” Tamid answered. “In case there’s rioting or someone is where they shouldn't be.”

“You think that Eille should check the rosters, then?” Sek’nos guessed. Tamid hesitated, before nodding. He glanced at Lha-Mi and when the Master of Martial Arts nodded, he seemed to relax a fraction.

“I could leave a few surprises in their computers,” Eille offered, “while I’m downloading the patrol routes. Uploading a virus won’t take long, and I have one that I created while working on the black box decryption.”

“Let’s make their life as difficult as possible,” Knight Yanna said. “We won’t have that much time, but is there anything else we can do?”

“Plant explosives on our way,” Ran-Era replied. The young talid had been studying the schematics intently for a while now. “Those are quite well designed, I’ll grant them that, but blow up enough things and they will be in trouble all the same.”

“Once you’ve killed Gal’vor, don’t waste time—you will need to get to the second landing bay so you can steal a ship,” Lha-Mi said.

“We might not have time,” Knight Yanna pointed out.

“That’s where Ranger Léionore comes in,” Lha-Mi replied indicating the tall, pale woman.

The other Ranger had been sitting in silence, as she braided and unbraided a strand of her long red hair. Once mentioned, she rose to her full height and peered at the sketches of the rakatan capital ship.

“I’ll be idling near the capital ship,” she said. “If things really go south, you will need to signal me and I’ll get you out. A short mind touch should be enough, if we agree on a place you will head for if you can’t get to the landing bay.”

“The bridge,” Tamid said. “This is one of the three most likely places that Gal’vor will be in—and the other two will be close by.”

“What would those be?” Knight Yanna asked.

“His private quarters or a briefing room,” Tamid answered. “All you will need to do is blow out the windows and we can get to your ship.”

“You will need space suits, if you will be getting out through the bridge,” Léionore pointed out. Then, before anyone could say anything, she gasped. “Unless – I could pull you in with a tractor beam. This will also pull in the air from the bridge, so you should be fine.”

“You should exhale first, and then hold your breath,” Eille interjected. “Just in case the tractor beam engages later, or Ranger Brock is too far away.”

“Good idea,” Léionore said. “I’ve done this trick a few times, but the only time I did it in space, the person I was pulling in had a space suit on.”

“Then it’s settled,” Lha-Mi said. “Please familiarise yourselves with the schematics and be ready in 48 hours.” 

 

* * *

 

 

The rakatan transport ship was actually damaged. The life support was only functioning partially, and while they had oxygen, the heating was down. Even through the insulated armour, Tamid could feel the cold.

He flexed his fingers, closed them into fists and listened to the synth leather creak. The armour had been taken from a captured pilot of one of the rakatan transports and hastily refitted for him to wear, but it felt odd still—both because it was a different design from his old armour, and because he hadn’t worn any in a year.

“Nervous?” the green-skinned woman—Knight Yanna—asked.

“I shouldn’t be,” he replied. “I've done this before.” Then, after a moment, he added, “Not exactly this. I don’t think I’ve ever got anywhere by crash-landing on purpose.”

“We’ll be fine,” Yanna said with a warm smile. “You’ll see. We’ll be telling this all to our grandchildren.”

Tamid decided not to point out that grandchildren seemed like some sort of exotic idea that definitely didn’t apply to him and nodded. It really didn’t matter what she said, anyway. Even if he couldn’t sense her unease, he’d have known that she was as nervous as he was, simply because this was not the type of mission you came back from.

Except, he had seen the impossible happen so many times lately.

“We’ll come back,” he answered with an amount of conviction that surprised him. 

 

* * *

 

 

The landing bay was in chaos – those who could were running from the wreckage, while those who couldn’t either lay unconscious or screamed in pain. The fire was spreading towards the other space ships and the smoke was growing thicker and more acrid with every second.

No one seemed to pay especial attention to them—although they still made sure to sneak towards the least used corridor, just in case someone thought to question them. Once they were out of sight, Yanna held her hand up to stop them.

“Tamid, which way?” she asked.

The young man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked around, almost as if he was expecting to see some indication as to where they should go.

“That way,” he said finally, indicating the direction. “We'll pass by a computer node soon, too.”

“Let’s go then,” Yanna replied, motioning for the rest of the group to start moving again. “Tamid, you take point. Bel—you will be our rear guard.”

They formed up almost instantly, with Olera and Eille in the centre, and Sek’nos joining Bel at the rear. Ran-Era jogged up, having busied himself with planting explosives already while Yanna and Tamid had been talking. Eli had been playing bodyguard to him, but moved to the rear with Bel and Sek’nos now. Yanna had joined Tamid at the front, staying just behind him.

Now that they had a moment to gather their bearings, she found the ship oppressive. Not just because of the dark metal walls that seemed almost tomb-like, but also because of how it felt in the Force. She could almost hear screams of pain and fear around her. Anger and hatred, cold and bitter, clung to every surface.

How could anyone sense anything else? It felt like trying to swim through a marsh.

“How did you stand being here?” she asked, unable to restrain her curiosity.

“The only other option was the airlock,” Tamid pointed out. “Please be quiet. People will be more suspicious if they hear us talking in something that’s not low rakatan.” 

 

* * *

 

 

They had had a few close calls—they had to pass a few patrols and get rid of several sentries on their way, but eventually they had reached the computer node. It was a small secluded offices, with barely enough place for two humans. Eille, on the other hand, had ample space to get comfortable. Bypassing the security needed time, but she had several programs at hand designed just for that. True, the system was more complex than that on the black box, but since then she had the opportunity to study other systems of rakatan make, starting with the one from Vev’s ship.

“Here,” she said, as a map appeared on the display console. “I will transfer this to your datapad, Yanna.”

“Why not yours?” the Knight asked, frowning.

“Because I need to stay here,” Eille said. “I’ll be more useful with access to their system. Yes, my virus will wreak havoc on its own, but if I can add to it, I may be able to give you a nearly clear path—and cripple their ship.”

Yanna hesitated. “Someone will eventually notice,” she pointed out. Her hand twitched, like she wanted to take Eille’s hand or maybe touch her shoulder, but she seemed to have suppressed that instinct.

“I can stay with her,” Bel offered as she peered inside.

Eille shook her head. “There’s no need.” She held up her blaster. “I can protect myself. Besides, there’s a vent up there.” She indicated the ventilation hatch above. “None of you will fit inside, but I will.”

Yanna still didn’t seem convinced, but Eille knew this was where she needed to be.

“Look—all of this only matters if you get close enough to kill their leader,” she said. “I need to make sure you will be able to do that. And the best way I can do this is from here. And now you really need to get going—you can’t waste any more time convincing me. Go!” 

 

* * *

 

 

Ran-Era had broken off from the rest of the team, after a third a third near-run-in with a patrol and had been planting and setting off explosives to draw attention away from them. Clearly, while Eille was doing her best to clear their path, they would need a bigger distraction still.

Which was where he was going to come in. He kept to the side-corridors, following directions Eille was sending him. One of the ship’s main cannons was nearby, and blowing it up would not only create an additional distraction, it would make the capital ship less dangerous. Possibly, if they failed, it’d allow someone to shoot it down.

“Just ten more meters, and there should be a door,” Eille said over the comm. It was still working for now, although the main team would not respond unless the situation was dire. “I’ll open it for you. There’ll be a maintenance crew—the cannon itself is operated from the bridge. Maybe a few guards. You’ll be above them—I can see if I can call them away.”

“Do that,” Ran-Era answered. “I don’t want to get discovered just yet.”

“On it,” Eille replied. “Wait for my signal.”

Ran-Era looked around and seeing no one in his way, made for the door. He stopped next to it and waited. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the comm pinged.

“OK, you can go in,” Eille said, once Ran-Era keyed the activation button.

The door hissed open a moment later, and Ran-Era dove inside. He found himself on a narrow walkway, over an empty room. In the middle, the cannon’s inner workings were exposed—likely to allow the maintenance crew and the engineers easier access.

Ran-Era carefully made his way until he was just over what seemed to be a battery, and then jumped down. He softened his landing with the Force, so that his legs barely felt jarred by it. Quickly, he set to work—if he was right, then the explosion would be fuelled by the energy that was being fed to the cannon, and that meant it’d take out not just the gun itself, but also a part of the ship.

He needed to set the timer right, if he wanted to live. 

 

* * *

 

 

The alarms had gone off soon after Ran-Era left the main group, and had been blaring non-stop for a while now. A tremor had gone through the ship, and someone started yelling about the main starboard cannon exploding a moment later.

That had been their chance to run—and run they did.

Then, Tamid stopped. He indicated a door just a few meters away. Yanna motioned for him to take position next to it, as she moved to the other side. Sek'nos and Eli both moved to Tamid's side, while Bel and Olera stopped behind Yanna.

They waited a moment—Yanna had started counting down, holding her hand up and folding a finger for each number. Once she closed her fist, in near tandem, so they were facing the door, and pushed with the Force.

The door buckled and bulged, before tearing off from its frame with a deafening roar. Yanna and Tamid rushed into the room first, followed by Sek’nos and Eli. The door hit someone, crashing them into the wall. Yanna couldn’t see who it was—it didn’t matter really, they were out of the fight for now anyway.

She and her team only had moments—there were guards in the room, a dozen or so of them, and they wouldn’t stay shocked and immobile forever. Already, a short armoured figure was rushing to meet her, a blue lightsaber in their hand. The black skinned rakata—their target—was behind them. He raised his hand, and Yanna danced to the side, dodging both the person’s blade and the lightning that shot out of his fingers.

She saw Eli vault over her towards the first group of guards. They had been standing in twos in each corner of the room, and four had clustered behind a conference table. The iktotchi had picked the four as his first target, making short work of them.

From the sounds behind her, Bel and Olera had joined in, shooting at the other guards. Yanna couldn’t check—she had to focus on the fight. Though small, her opponent was quick and nimble, and the rakata’s strange Force lightning was not helping. But the worst part was that the two were clearly a good team—she had not expected that at all.

The small Force Hound seemed to almost instinctively know when to move aside, to give Gal’vor a free field of action, and he in turn could anticipate how they’d attack and follow up on it. Still, it was not the first time Yanna was fighting against two opponents. And she was not alone—once Eli, Bel and Olera were done with the guards, one of them would join her and even out the odds.

The short Force Hound clearly thought her distracted, as they attempted a bolder strike—they tried to get closer to Yanna, manoeuvre themselves in such a way that her greater reach became a disadvantage. Yanna did not let them.

Except, clearly, that had been a feint. Just as Yanna twisted away from the Force Hound, she realized she was heading right at Gal’vor. Quickly, she pulled a chair and threw it in the rakata’s direction, forcing him to dodge and move away, but no sooner that it had happened, she saw something else.

Tamid and Sek’nos had taken the second rakata as their target, who had overturned the table and was attempting to keep them away by using lightning. Sek’nos had somehow managed to stop it with his lightsaber, but just as Tamid vaulted over the table, the person who had been caught by the door threw it back.

It hit Sek’nos and sent him flying at the nearest wall. Yanna still sensed him in the Force, but she also saw him slump down, unconscious.

The small Force hound kicked Yanna’s knee then, and while they hadn’t managed to break anything, she stumbled nonetheless. Without pausing, following her instinct, she dove to the ground and rolled away, Gal’vor’s lightning missing her by inches.

When she rose to her feet, Bel and Olera were already dead. 

 

* * *

 

 

Tamid had no time to change his plan. One moment, Sek’nos was covering him, and the next he was down. He only managed to catch a glimpse of the person who did it, but it was enough. The man was human, with a lined tawny face and brown hair—Mern. That Mern.

He needed to get to Yanna and help her with Gal’vor, before Mern had the time to take them all out. Already, he had taken out Bel and Olera, and even though Eli had rushed to stop him, Tamid couldn’t be sure how much time they had.

The second rakata seemed to have realized that he was not going to stay out of the fight. He rose to his feet and stretched his arm out. Tamid didn’t wait and rushed at him, slashing down with his lightsaber. It went through the flesh and bone, cutting away the rakata’s limb before he could do anything.

Then, he felt something in the Force—a presence just behind him. He spun around and pushed with the Force, and a small body slammed into the wall with a crack. It fell to the floor with a hollow thud and didn’t rise again.

The rakata was still in his way, though.

“Mern!” he yelled, before Tamid got to him again. He had backed away all to the wall and now had nowhere to run—Mern wouldn’t get to him in time. Tamid slashed with his lightsaber, parting the rakata’s head from his body. It was still slumping down as he turned around and made to throw the table.

It was too late though. Mern had dispatched Eli too, his body bisected neatly at the level of his chest. He jumped towards Tamid, who managed to block his first strike. Then, he stopped, his gaze falling at the small body slumped next to the wall.

And then, Tamid sensed grief and fury like a rolling wave. It was his only warning, and he only barely managed to dodge Mern’s strike. It wasn’t just the will to survive that was driving him now, but some sort of a primal fury that Tamid couldn’t quite place. He only knew that he needed to somehow stop the older Force Hound before he killed him.

Again, he tried to use the table—tear a piece out of it to bash Mern with—but the other Force Hound was faster, despite his age. He kicked Tamid’s stomach hard and left him doubled over and resisting the temptation to clutch his midsection. Instead, Tamid threw himself down completely and rolled away, knowing that a follow up strike was coming. When he rose, he realized he had dropped his ‘saber when Mern had kicked him and had no time to grab it again.

Mern was already coming for him, his ‘saber raised for a downward strike. Tamid waited for him to start swinging downward and grabbed his wrists. He could only hold him like that for a moment and--

Behind them, he saw Yanna finally getting hit with lightning. Her body spasmed for a moment, before she dropped her ‘saber and crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Mern kicked him again, this time in the knee. Tamid’s leg buckled and he let go of Mern’s hands. He pushed him away at the last moment, as he looked around wildly for some sort of escape. But there was none.

“Halt,” Gal’vor said, but it didn’t stop Mern from walking towards Tamid right away. It was only after the rakata repeated the order that the older Force Hound begrudgingly stopped, his ‘saber still active.

The younger Force Hound followed him, her lightsaber still drawn.

“Good, you’re still capable of following orders,” Gal’vor said. “Your master is dead, Mern. But worry not—I’m in a good mood. I’ll take you. I will even-“ He stopped in mid-sentence, and his eye-stalks swivelled forward as he focused on Tamid. “I know you. You’re Xesh, Tul’kar’s Hound. Well, well…”

Maybe he had intended to say more—he never got the chance. The older Force Hound surged forward and hauled Tamid to his feet.

“You- you’re one of us!” he roared. His face was twisted in anger and… grief? “You killed him!” he continued, pointing towards the small body. “He was only a child—he wasn’t even trained yet!”

Tamid looked at it one more time, before looking at Mern again. “He’s better off dead,” he hissed.

Mern recoiled. Maybe-

“That is quite enough,” Gal’vor said, as he put his clawed hand over Mern’s arm. “I wish to question Xesh. Once I am done with him, you can have him, Mern. You will find that I am a much more gracious owner than Dan’an.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Hyali breathed a sigh of relief as his squad turned into the corner and found the saboteur. He was crouching at the end of the corridor, arms extended upwards to indicate he was unarmed. They were not going to die today—they had proven to be competent and done their duty.

Decurio Palla didn't lower her weapon, nor did any of them. Hyali thought they were being over-cautious—this was some engineer, not a demon-touched Force user, but he knew to keep his mouth shut. Palla was far from gentle with anyone with anyone who mouthed off to her, and Hyali was already missing his front teeth thanks to one incident.

The saboteur watched them—Hyali had never seen anyone of his species before, so he couldn’t read his expression or body language too well. He thought he was a bit too calm, nevertheless. Most species would shiver or recoil when faced with a squad of armed soldiers. Not this one—he remained immobile, like a statue made of sandstone.

And then, something caught Hyali’s attention. He turned his head, but he never realized what it was that he noticed—the corridor went up in flames a moment later.


	12. Where Mern Reconsiders His Life Choices

The cell was small and empty, the walls covered with a material that made them easy to clean. There was only one door—a heavy thing made of doonium, just in case the person being questioned broke out of their restraints. It smelled mostly of cleaning supplies—a sharp acidic smell.

Gal’vor had been circling the room for a while now, walking around the chair on which Tamid had been restrained. He had not started by asking questions, but then, Tamid wasn’t sure he’d have been capable of answering anything coherently when he had woken up. They must have given him something—dimly, he recalled something about drugs messing with one's ability to use the Force.

That was not to say that the predor had been idle. Tamid had been woken up with a blow, and they hadn’t stopped coming, not even when he’d gotten a bit more clear-headed. Although by then, it was probably mostly because he wasn’t cooperating.

Still, Gal’vor clearly believed that Tamid would not only break, but turn to his side. If he hadn’t, he’d have broken his dominant arm. Which was a good thing to know, he supposed, if he could figure out how to use it.

While in pain. With a broken arm.

“Your resistance is meaningless,” Gal’vor said. “You realize this, don’t you? The people you’re protecting will die regardless of what you do.”

Well, at least he could handle that kind of question. “So will you,” Tamid replied. “Everything anyone does is meaningless. The galaxy does not care if you are predor or if it’s someone else. It doesn’t care who dies or who lives.”

Gal’vor raised his hand, but stopped mid-swing. “Smart. Very smart even—not only are you trying to anger me, you're showing me you're too smart to be kept alive.” He leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. “But I’m not an imbecile like your previous master. I can appreciate slaves who are capable of using their brains. So, tell me—why resist if nothing has any meaning? You will suffer and then you will die.”

Tamid looked around the room. Gal’vor’s Force Hound was standing just behind him, there because their master was there. Mern was off to the side, watching him with an unreadable expression. He could sense that the older Force Hound was still conflicted.

He’d almost, almost gotten him to think the last time.

“Because if I help you, others will suffer instead,” he eventually said.

“You’ve just said that it doesn’t matter,” Gal’vor answered. “You can’t have both—either it does or it doesn’t.”

“It matters to me,” Tamid replied. “And you—you took almost everything from me. Why would I want to help you? Why would I want the people who helped me to go through what I did?”

This time, Gal’vor didn’t stop himself. His claws raked across Tamid’s cheek, drawing blood.

“Well then, Mern,” he said. “Perhaps you can get him to talk. Don’t hold back. He just told me he refuses to be useful.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Sek’nos woke up with a pounding headache. It was by far the worst he’d ever had—and it was making him feel weak, like something was sucking out all of his life. As he thought this, he realized that something was in fact stealing his strength.

Then, he opened his eyes.

He was in some sort of a pod, crammed in like a fish in a can. Clearly, whoever had designed it had not expected it to ever be occupied by someone as large as he was, given that he was curled up on his side to fit. He couldn’t really twist around to face the hatch—the best he could do was turn his head to take a look.

Through the glass—or was it some other material?—he could see other pods, rows upon rows of them. Some were empty, but he could make out figures in others.

Having taken stock, Sek’nos tried pushing against the hatch with his shoulder, but this had no effect. Either he was too weak, or the pod was closed too tightly. But he had other means of escaping.

He closed his eyes and reached out in the Force. All around him, he could sense others—children, mostly, but a few adults here and there. A familiar presence caught his attention. Knight Yanna was there, too.

The effort was making his head spin, but Sek’nos realized he could not rest. If this was what Tamid had told him—the place where rakata powered their machines with captives and slaves—then resting would only make him weaker.

He gathered his strength and pushed with the Force. At first, the hatch didn’t buckle, but slowly, it began to shake. The metal groaned in protest, and other materials started cracking. Sek’nos felt sweat pour down his eyes and tasted it on his lips, but didn’t stop. He had one chance and he needed to use it.

Suddenly, something gave and the hatch flew away.

Sek’nos crawled out of the pod and looked around. His head was still pounding, and he felt like his legs and arms were made of cotton.

But he was out. 

 

* * *

 

 

Gal’vor’s command had jolted Garon out of his thoughts. His hand curled instinctively over the hilt of his ‘saber and he stepped forward almost without a conscious thought. It was only then, that he realized what Gal’vor wanted him to do.

Xesh watched him, tension visible in every muscle. He’d seen the look countless times, in the arena—in every opponent, who’d just lost and knew that their fate was in his hands. He let his hand drop from his ‘saber, the association making him uneasy all of a sudden.

“What are you waiting for?” Gal’vor asked. He was growing impatient. Small wonder—Xesh was his chance to turn the campaign, which had become a stalemate, into a quick victory. Except he needed him to crack.

Garon didn’t have a choice anymore—if he wanted to live, he’d have to do what Gal’vor wanted. He extended his hand and curled his fingers, blocking off Xesh’s airway. Not for long—just long enough to make a point. The young man started coughing as soon as the pressure eased on his throat, and Garon felt a sour taste in his mouth.

Then, Gal’vor’s comm pinged. The predor let out an irritated sigh and raised it up to his face, before keying the channel open.

“Why do you disturb me?” he growled.

“We need you on the bridge, predor,” someone said apologetically. Mern thought it was one of the junior officers. “There’s a disturbance in the power station. The power output dropped significantly, and keeps on dropping.”

Gal’vor stood motionless for a moment, before growling, “I’ll be there in a minute.” Then, he turned to Mern. “Get him to talk. I don’t care how. If you fail, you will wish to be in his place, Mern.”

And with that he left, Jenth following like a shadow.

“You don’t have to listen to him, you know,” Xesh said once the door was closed. “It’s all a trick. He’s not stronger than you, he just wants you to think that. Take away his army and you can kill him.”

Mern didn't know how to respond to that. He understood that he was Xesh’s only chance of escape, but that was not what the young man was talking about at all.

“Why aren’t you asking me to spare you?” he eventually asked.

“Because you’ve no reason to want to spare me,” Xesh replied. He hesitated then. “I’m sorry about- what was his name?"

“Jard,” Garon said reflexively. Suddenly, there was one thing that he was certain of. “You’re wrong—I don’t want to hurt you. I- I need to think.”

“You don’t have to,” Xesh said, as he tried to lean forward. He winced and fell back onto the chair a moment later, having put too much strain on his broken arm.

Garon shook his head. “It’s not that easy. You know this—I may not want something, but if I don’t follow Gal’vor’s orders-“

 “Then what? Your master couldn’t force you to make your fights longer, to make your opponents suffer,” Xesh cut in. “What can Gal’vor do that your master couldn’t?”

His throat dry, Garon didn’t answer. Da’nan didn’t command armies, true—but in the end, the leverage he had over Garon was the same as Gal’vor had now. He could have killed him or tortured him. And he could do any of this even if Garon did follow orders and Gal’vor simply didn’t like the end result.

“He can’t force you.” Xesh persisted, his voice urgent. “You wanted to protect Jard, right? There are others like him—if you help me stop Gal’vor, you can save them from sharing my fate. Or yours.”

That he had thought he could protect Jard had been laughable, he knew that now. As long as Da'nan had lived—as long as anyone could claim the boy as their Force Hound—Jard would have been in danger. And Garon had stood by and let it happen.

It hadn’t seemed as clear even a few hours ago, but now it seemed obvious. It was too late for Jard. But Xesh was right—there were others.

“I’ll help you,” he said, as he started undoing Xesh’s restraints. He helped the young man up, holding him until he was steady on his feet again. “We don’t have much time—Gal’vor will be on his way to the power station. We need to get to him before he arrives there.”

He had already failed once—Jard was dead and it was his fault. He hadn’t done enough. It wouldn't ever happen again.

This time, he would not fail. 

 

* * *

 

 

Yanna managed to free herself from the restraints on her wrists and ankles, but it had taken most of her strength. She had to rest a moment, except something was draining her strength. She tried to push against the hatch, but it wouldn’t move.

Brute force wouldn’t win the day, but-

Something tore the hatch open and Yanna saw a large red hand extended in her direction. She looked up, and realized Sek’nos was standing in front of her.

She let him help her out and took stock—they were in a large chamber, full of identical pods. Faint screams and crying could be heard from some of them, as well as pounding.

“This is the power station,” she breathed out, an idea forming in her head.

“We should get those people out,” Sek’nos said. Clearly, they had been thinking along the same lines.

Yanna nodded. “Just give me a moment to catch my breath and I’m on it.” She fingered her sleeve, but it seemed that her comm had been taken. It’d have made things so much easier, if she could contact Eille and ask her to simply open all of the pods.

That was assuming Eille was still alive.

But this was not the time for this. Later, she’d mourn the dead and look for ways she could have changed the outcome of their mission. Right now, she had a chance to accomplish something.

She turned towards the nearest pod to check if there was anyone inside. 

 

* * *

 

 

Jenth followed Gal’vor in silence. Her master was angry, and it was best not to remind him of one’s presence when he was in such a mood. She’d have rather stayed with Mern than gone to the bridge. In this mood, her master was too unpredictable, more likely to find fault with her for things he would normally forgive.

But voicing this? It was not an option. Gal’vor was kind enough to overlook her missteps, but he would not tolerate weakness.

Suddenly, one of the doors slammed shut just in front of them. Her master only barely managed to avoid being crushed by it. Jenth shrunk back, but fortunately, Gal’vor directed his wrath at the door. It buckled, as he pushed against it with the Force, until finally it gave and flew out of its frame.

“What is the meaning of this?” he snapped into his comm.

“We are experiencing a number of technical malfunctions, my Lord,” someone replied in an apologetic tone. “We’re working on it, but it will take time to find each one of them and fix it.”

“I don’t care what you do, I want a clear path to the bridge!” Gal’vor snapped. “Now!”

“Yes, my Lord,” the voice over the comm replied. They did not sound entirely convinced, but it wasn’t a good idea to tell Gal’vor this. Not now, at least.

“And do you know what is going on in the power station?” Gal’vor snapped as he stalked forwards.

“No, my Lord,” the voice answered. “The troops are on their way, but the malfunctions are holding them back. The section is suffering from several power shortages—we will need to divert the power from the auxiliary power stations.”

“Do it,” Gal’vor said. “Once they deal with the disturbance, we can redirect power again.” He turned off the comm and barked at no one in particular, “Is no one here capable of thinking on their own?”

That made her think of what Xesh had said—about how he had no reason to help Gal’vor, because the rakata had taken everything from him. Then, she thought about the other thing he had said: how nothing really mattered, because everyone would die eventually. But that couldn’t be it, could it? No one really believed that. If nothing else, you had your life and you’d do anything to protect that.

But maybe, if someone believed that only their life mattered, and that it would be in danger if they failed at something, they wouldn't dare try anything?

She looked at her master and remained silent. He wouldn’t want to hear what she had just thought.


	13. Where the Party on Gal'vor's Capital Ship Continues, and by Party, We Mean a Mess

Sek’nos wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do next, but he figured that as long as he just kept taking one step at a time, he’d get somewhere. So far, he and Yanna had managed to free several Rangers who were thought killed in action, as well as a herd of children of various species aged between eleven and thirteen.

All of them appeared to be exhausted, but Sek’nos didn’t know how long they could spend letting them recover. Sooner or later, someone would notice something was up and come to check.

“Right—can any of you understand me?” he asked, turning towards the children. After a moment, a several of them raised a hand. Each of them was a human, as far as Sek’nos could tell. “Great. Can you translate for me?”

Eventually, a gangly girl with dark skin stepped forward. She kept her distance from Sek’nos, and kept glancing at him nervously.

“I can try,” she said.

“Good,” Sek’nos replied as he sat down to bring himself to the eye-level of the group. He looked at the girl then and asked, “What’s your name?”

She hesitated and touched the tattoo on her face, before eventually saying, “Wylla.”

“Great. Can you ask which of you has any experience with fighting, Wylla? Or piloted anything?”

He tried not to sound as doubtful as he felt. These were all children—the chances of any of them having any of the skills they’d need right now were small at best. To his surprise, Wylla didn’t ask anyone and said, “We all can fight.”

Then she turned towards the group and started asking something. Another child piped up from somewhere behind. Wylla sighed, before turning back to Sek’nos. “He says he piloted a speeder once.”

Which was not going to be helpful, but at least it seemed they had a herd of little Tamids and Vevs, so that was a start. “Right. Let’s divide you into groups—each of you will go with one of us, and we’ll try to steal some ships.”

Wylla’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“We’re getting out of here, kid,” Sek’nos said as he got up.

It was then that the comm activated and Eille’s voice rung out of it. “Hurry up, all of you, you’re going to have company in a few minutes.” 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Gal’vor had reached the bridge, he was feeling somewhat unhappy with himself. Destroying a perfectly good door in a tantrum, like some lesser mind? That was not like him at all. Not to mention, doors were not free, and neither was repairing a capital ship.

And his would be in need of serious repairs even without him contributing.

It made him feel murderous all over again, but this time he decided to be reasonable. There were rats on his ships—he’d take out his fury on them.

“Tell whoever you sent to the power station that I want survivors,” he said. The nearest communication’s officer relayed his orders immediately.

“They’re reporting resistance,” the comm’s officer said after a moment. “It seems that the slaves have escaped from their pods, somehow.”

Gal’vor growled under his breath. “The last two. Were they sedated before being put into the pods?”

There was no answer, but he could already guess what had happened. The large twi’lek-like male had probably not fit in the pod. A risk with older subjects that was usually negated by administering a dose of sedative. If someone had neglected to do so, then the male could have broken out.

But that would have only been him. How had he gotten the other slaves out?

It didn’t matter right now, of course, but it’d be useful to know later.

“Make sure the large red male with horns and headtails survives—Jenth, go and make sure he’s captured,” he said after a moment. “I need to question him.”

The girl nodded and jogged out briskly. Gal’vor looked back to the hologram of his ship. It  displayed a number of areas that were non-functional. The main power station, one of the main cannons… Several areas had been made inaccessible by the infection of the operating system. Another section had suffered severe structural damage from explosions.

“How many of them managed to sneak onto my ship?” Gal’vor asked himself. The group that had attacked him were clearly not the only ones. They may have even been a diversion—their mission was doomed to failure from the start, after all—which would hide the others, who’d play havoc on his ship.

“This infection of the system—are you sure it’s an infection?” he asked. “Or is it possible someone is tampering with it?”

“My lord, the operating system is most definitely infected,” one of the technicians said. He glanced at his console, and added, “However, someone may be using it to mask additional actions in the system.”

“Find them,” Gal’vor barked.

The technician looked like he was about to say something, but clearly thought better of it. His fear of failure would motivate him to move past his limitations.

Or he’d die. Technicians could be trained. Ships were much more expensive. 

 

* * *

 

 

They had little time to organize themselves, but Yanna did her best. Now, each Ranger had a group of non-combatants and a child that would serve as a translator for the rakatan subjects. Eille had done her best to give them directions, and now they were running.

They had considered taking different paths, but Yanna decided against it. Had she a few more knights, and no children with only basic training, it may have been a solid tactic, but as it was, their best hope was to make their numbers count.

They didn't get far before they met the first team of soldiers. Unarmed as they were, their only chance was to use the soldiers’ confusion and surprise against them. Yanna jumped towards the nearest one, and punched him in the face. Her fist connected with his nose, and with the Force lending additional strength to her hit, it broke with a sickening crack.

Quickly, not daring to waste even a second, she wrestled his gun from his hands and shot it straight into his chest. The soldier slumped to the floor, while Yanna fired another shot, and then another. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sek’nos lift several soldiers with the Force and toss them into the rest.

One of the rangers went down—a man Yanna didn’t recognize, but it seemed they had luck on their side. The squad didn’t hold out much longer.

The dark-skinned human boy who was acting as a translator for Yanna kicked the head of a fallen soldier, before turning to Yanna.

“Do you know how far we need to go?” he asked. He seemed oddly unconcerned by the violence that had just unfolded. Those had been sentient beings they have killed, not beasts, after all.

“Pretty far,” Yanna said. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” the boy answered, his face growing expressionless.

“Just tell me if any of you can’t keep up,” she said. “I can carry one of you.”

The boy looked at her with a confused expression. “We could just leave anyone too weak to keep up behind.”

Yanna shook her head. “We’re not leaving anyone behind.”

 

* * *

 

 

For once, the stupid scarf the rakata insisted Force Hounds wear with their armour came in handy. Mern had used it as a makeshift sling for Tamid’s broken arm. It still hurt abominably, but at least it wasn’t getting in his way.

They had a few bumps on the way—several NCOs had tried stopping them, but each time Mern had repeated that Gal’vor wanted him to bring Tamid to the bridge as soon as he started talking. A predor’s name was a very effective shield—no one thought to question a possible order, least they ended up facing his wrath.

Ruling the rakatan way really was a terrible idea. He'd have to tell Daegen that if he survived.

“How good an actor are you?” Mern asked, as they were nearing the bridge.

“Not very,” Tamid replied. He was having a bad feeling about where this was going.

Mern seemed to think for a moment, then held out his hand to stop Tamid. “I need my scarf back.”

He didn’t wait for Tamid to give it back—it’d have taken too long anyway—and undid the sling in moments. Then he looked at Tamid. “I’m sorry. This will hurt.”

Then, he grabbed Tamid’s broken arm—not where it was broken, thankfully, but it still took everything not to scream. He let himself get dragged towards the bridge, suddenly uncertain if this had not all been a trick. Mern had seemed honest, before, but…

They entered the bridge without much fuss. Gal'vor was busy yelling at some technician. One of the other officers looked sharply at them and moved to intercept them. Gal’vor turned around, and his confusion was too genuine. He was not expecting that—but he also didn’t seem to realize he was in danger.

Then, Mern let go of Tamid’s arm and drew his ‘saber in one fluid motion. He jumped over the junior officer and stabbed down. Gal’vor threw his hand up, but it was too late. Mern’s ‘saber went through it and his head.

Tamid knew he only had seconds left before someone started shooting at them.

He drew on the Force and made a sweeping gesture with his uninjured hand, tearing out several consoles at once. Then with another wave of his hand he threw them around the bridge, taking out several of the crew and damaging the equipment further.

It gave them a bit more time—enough for Mern to start picking off any other survivors and for Tamid to take cover.

Still, they were outnumbered. There was one way they could survive, though.

He reached out with his mind to Léionore. 

 

* * *

 

 

It had clearly been going too easily for them. As far as Sek’nos could tell, they were almost at the landing bay when they ran into a larger group of soldiers who had blockaded the hallway. Those, however, were not the main problem—at least for him.

A slim figure in dark armour crouched between them. It was the Force Hound, who attacked him as soon as he was close enough.

He dove out of their way and tried to catch them with the Force. The armoured figure tucked into a roll and slipped out of his grip. 

Whoever they were, they were strong in the Force, but Sek’nos was by far not out of tricks. He kept one hand extended, still pushing, as he brought up the other, which was holding the gun. He fired.

The Force Hound ignited their lightsaber and deflected his shots, indiscriminately tossing shots among the rakatan soldiers and the children. They dove for cover, but still there were two motionless bodies on the floor. Roaring in rage, he tore metal plates from the walls and threw them at the slight, armoured figure. The bluish blade cut through them and the Force Hound kept coming. 

It would have been easier if he had had his lightsaber, but they hadn't had time to recover it. Instead, he’d have to rely on the Force and the blaster.

The Force Hound had the advantage and knew it. Catlike, they jumped from wall to wall, deflecting his shots. Another child screamed. Abandoning caution, Seknos charged, using the Force to boost himself up and slam into the enemy. He grabbed the hand holding the ‘saber, using his greater mass and strength to bear them to the ground.

Perhaps, with another person, it’d have been a smart choice, but the Force Hound had a lightsaber, which lacked the limitations of a sword in such close quarters. He roared and almost blacked out as the Force Hound pressed the hot blade against his side. It started to cut through his skin and the tissue underneath, so he had to let go and roll away before being halved.

“I’m supposed to get you alive,” a rough, female voice barked. The part of Sek’nos’s brain that wasn’t busy being in pain noted that she was speaking Dathomirian, though differently accented to what he was used to. “But nobody said in how many pieces.”

A kick into the wound made the fight go out of him completely. He only could hold his breath as he felt the heat of the blade close on his leg…

Then, Wylla yelled something, and the heat disappeared.

He blinked away the tears to see the Force Hound close on the girl, who was slowly backing away.

“Mistake, you little mite. Bad mistake.” The slender woman raised her lightsaber. Wylla screamed, and suddenly lighting flared from her fingers, only to be caught on the glowing blade.

Sek’nos tried to get to his feet.

Then, the floor opened up. The Force Hound lost her footing first; the whole section that was under her feet fell away almost instantly and she disappeared in a cloud of debris and flame.

Wylla started sliding down, her feet no longer finding purchase as the floor bent down and became almost vertical. Sek’nos reached out with the Force to grab her. Just as he was pulling her out, someone else jumped up from the lower level. Sek'nos nearly dropped Wylla before realizing it was Ran-Era.

“Hurry up!” he called out. “We’ve little time!”

Sek’nos and Wylla picked each other up and started running. 

 

* * *

 

 

Léionore had nearly given up hope when she felt another mind touch hers. The contact was brief, but she did recognize the young escaped Force Hound—Tamid. Quickly, she started her ship’s engines and flew towards the capital ship.

The main gun emplacement was a scorched hole, although some work at sealing it was under way. Still, no one had tried shooting her as she neared the bridge.

She was just in front of the viewport when she reached out to Tamid—she wasn’t going to risk shooting at it without sending a warning to the people she was supposed to extract. There was a moment before she felt an affirmation from him, and only then did she fire.

It took coordination, but she managed to start the tractor beam just after the viewport was blown away. She waited until the door to the bridge of her ship opened and she heard Tamid’s voice.

“We’re done,” he said. “Um. There’s only two of us-“

“Two of your companions were causing trouble in the power station,” another voice, one she did not recognize, joined. Léionore turned around to see who was talking.

Tamid looked very much the worse for wear since she had last seen him—there were three cuts on his left cheek, and his arm was hanging limply. The man next to him looked not much better—his eyes and nose were bruised black, and the leather parts of his armour were torn in a few places. The green tattoo in the shape of the letter “mern” was not helping much at that moment, although the colour would actually complement his warm complexion when he wasn’t so battered.

It also meant he had been the same kind of slave Tamid and Vev had been—which gave Léionore pause. Weren’t they supposed to feel different in the Force until someone taught them properly? She sensed nothing sinister about this man—he actually felt rather warm.

Still, it was not the time for it. “Give me a moment, I’ll ask Master Lha-Mi if we can send anyone else to get them out—in the meantime, there’s a first aid kit here-“ She waved her hand in the general direction. “Can you put Tamid’s arm in a sling—what’s your name again?”

“Garon,” the man answered. He hesitated for a moment, and then added, “Garon Jard.”

“Great, I’m Léionore Brock,” she said, as she started retreating from the vicinity of the capital ship and sent a request to contact Master Lha-Mi. “Both of you take some painkillers, they’ll be in the pink vial. Or wait—is either of you allergic to them?”

“I’m fine,” Tamid said. “It’s just a broken arm.”

“I broke an arm once,” Léionore said firmly. “Take your painkillers.”

The comm finally responded, and Lha-Mi’s face appeared on the screen. He looked at all of them, his gaze stopping at Garon for a longer while.

“Did you succeed?” he asked.

“Gal’vor is dead,” Tamid replied. “Me- I mean, Garon helped me. He also knows who survived other than me.”

“The woman with the tattoos and greenish skin,” Garon said, “and the man with headtails and horns—they were both taken to the power station, but it seems they escaped from there.”

“Ran-Era and Eille may also be still alive,” Tamid added. “Or did they get caught?”

“Where they with you when you made the first attempt on Gal’vor?” Garon asked.

Tamid shook his head. “No, they stayed behind to get into the ship’s computer systems and blow up things.”

“They weren’t caught, as far as I know,” Garon answered. “Unless someone forgot to inform Gal’vor.”

Lha-Mi seemed pensive. “I’m afraid they will have to get out on their own—unless you can pick them up now, we need to press our advantage. Our scans indicate that the main gun of the capital ship was taken out—this our chance to take this thing down. I’ve authorized a strike already.”


	14. Where At Least Two Grand Escapes Happen

The ship started shaking almost as soon as they reached the landing bay. Sek’nos saw a small fighter tear off its moorings and slide across the floor, until it collided with a freighter. The metal crumpled under the impact like paper. The din was deafening.

The only lights were strobing red ones that were giving the ship interior a sinister feel—it would really be good to finally get off it.

“We need to keep moving!” Yanna snapped as she grabbed Sek’nos’s arm and pulled him along. “The ship is being shot at!”

That had not been part of the plan, but then the plan was already in shambles by now. Sek’nos started running again towards the nearest ship. He pounced over the gangplank, straight into the ship, and came face to face with a very surprised crew member. Since he was still holding Wylla, he did the only other thing available to him—he slammed his head into the head of the crew member, who, unprepared as they were, fell down to the floor unconscious.

Yanna bounded after him, and so did Ran-Era and a number of the freed children. They all now milled around uncertainly inside the ship, until Yanna asked, “Anyone here have any idea how to pilot this thing?”

When there were no positive answers, she grabbed Ran-Era’s arm and started heading towards the bridge. “Fine, I guess we’ll have to figure it out on the fly. Sek’nos, keep the kids calm.”

Sek’nos looked around—the children did actually look quite calm to him. Almost unnaturally so—his cousins, nieces and nephews would have already started talking if not playing something. Well, perhaps not playing, given the circumstances.

“Grab onto something!” Sek’nos yelled, as he put Wylla down, who relayed his order. The children obeyed him the best they could given the scarce amount of things to grab onto. It didn't seem like any of them had thought of the obviously solution, though. “The bigger and stronger ones of you, hold the smaller ones.”

There was some more confusion, all the while Sek’nos kept wondering why they weren’t starting. The capital ship continued shaking, and he could see other fighters slide away and collide with walls and other ships. If they didn’t leave soon-

The gangplank finally closed, and the ship started powering up. It lurched forward, but it seemed it was still tethered to the landing bay. Several of the children were thrown forwards, as the ship continued pulling forwards, until it finally tore free.

Sek’nos slumped down heavily.

They were out.

Then, through the viewport, he saw the walls of the landing bay disappear in an explosion—it was rolling towards them.

“We’re going to die,” Wylla said.

“Trust in the Force,” Sek’nos replied, just like his grandmother used to tell him.

There really wasn’t much else any of them could do—their survival rested on Yanna and Ran-Era.

 

* * *

 

They had got away. Or Léionore had got them away.

Garon had stood behind the co-pilot’s seat, gripping it both for physical support and simply to have something remind him this was really happening. He was feeling oddly light-headed, even though he had not taken the painkillers, almost as if everything around him was happening to someone else, and he was only an unconcerned onlooker.

But finally, Léionore leaned back, as she engaged the autopilot.

“We should be safe for now,” she said, as she turned around to look at Garon and Xesh—or rather Tamid, as she had been calling him. “Let me take a better look at both of you. I’m not a healer, but I work with them often enough to be able to patch you up a bit.”

She studied them both for a moment, grey eyes first focusing on Tamid’s broken arm, and then on Garon’s face.

“Garon? When was the last time you had something to drink?” she asked. Not waiting for his reply, she fished out a bottle from one of the compartments and handed it to him.

Garon took a sip—the cool liquid and the sound of her speaking to him seemed to bring his mind back into focus—enough for him to feel like he was inside of his body again, at least.

“I’ll take a look at your face in a moment,” Léionore continued. “When I’m done with Tamid’s arm.”

“I’m fine,” Garon said.

Tamid, apparently, was not going to show him much support there and said, “He’s not. He tried to stop a door with his face.”

“I see Master Quan-Jang’s idea of tact lives on,” Léionore commented dryly. She extended her hands over Tamid’s arm as she spoke and closed her eyes for a moment. “You’ll have to have a healer look at it—I think the bone might have moved, and I don't want to do anything in case I make it grow back badly. We’ll keep it in a sling and immobilized.”

Then, she turned to Garon. It was the first time they had been face to face—she was an athletically built woman, tall enough to look him in the eye. She lifted her hands and held them inches away from his face, and he caught himself wondering how it’d have felt if she touched him.

Then, before he could really think about it, he sensed a change in the Force. She had gathered it and calmed herself, so that he couldn’t sense any emotion from her—just peace. Somehow, the sensation spread to him, easing the pain.

“There we go,” she said after a moment, as took a step back.

 

* * *

 

Jenth woke to chaos, smoke and noise. Her head was throbbing, as was the right side of her body. And there was something wrong—something subtle, something-

It hit there then—she could no longer sense her Master in the Force. She had failed. She should have been with him, protecting him from danger, but instead she had wasted time in capturing the escapees.

And now, her family would pay the price of her ineptitude.

The ship shook and Jenth nearly lost her footing. The noise was growing, and with a start she realized just what it was—explosions. The gnats infesting this system had not just dared to strike her Master down. They had taken on the capital ship. The symbol of the might of the Infinite Empire.

And it looked like they would win.

The mere idea ignited her anger again. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that those people had been given a warning. It wasn’t fair that her family would die, so that they might remain free.

Why was it her lot to suffer and theirs to remain untouched by the pain?

No, this would not stand. Jenth would not let this injustice stand. If she was to suffer, than so would everyone else.

She cast her gaze around, saw the Force-less rabble run in all directions. Without their master to direct them, they trampled over each other, too intent on their own safety to work together.

She could have left them to their fates, but if she was to be effective, she would need others.

“Stop running, cowards!” she yelled, her anger imbuing her voice with power. Those nearest to her fell to their knees, their auditory organs bleeding. Others stopped, frozen in place, like rabbits before a snake. “The ship is going down, idiots! We need to get to the landing bay and get out!”

They watched her in horrified silence, and she drank their fear, channelled it to make her injured body strong again.

“Follow me!” she barked and turned around sharply.

Those who followed would live for now and help her make this system burn.

 

* * *

 

This was the last time Shae was staying behind and waiting for others to come back safely. She’d woken up in the middle of the night, feeling pain radiating down the length of her left arm. For a moment, she’d expected restraints to bite into her skin as she sat up, only to realize it was not her own pain that she was feeling.

It was Tamid. She knew for sure that something bad had happened to him.

She hadn’t slept since then. She couldn’t. Not when there might have been something, anything she could do. Except she couldn’t think of anything with an actual chance of success. After all, if the first group had been captured, most likely so would any rescue team she could gather on such short notice.

But as time passed, she grew less certain what she had sensed. The pain had faded, and only the cold feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach remained.

That was when she decided to check if Vev had sensed anything.

The young woman had not been in her room. Shae found her in one of the training halls, practicing what looked like martial arts katas. It wasn’t like anything Shae had been taught—where she’d lead in with fluid smooth motions, Vev’s movements were quick and choppy.

That wasn’t to say they were artless. Shae could tell there was both force and skill behind them, the kind that could be quite deadly in a fight.

Then Vev seemed to notice her. She stopped and turned around, her face flushed with exertion.

“Did you come to practice too?” she asked, and almost immediately added, “No, you didn’t. Something bad happened.”

“I don’t know for sure,” Shae said, feeling a sudden glimmer of hope. Vev hadn’t sensed anything. “I thought I felt that Tamid was hurt.”

Vev froze, her eyes going wide. Then, her expression turned defiant. “He’s going to be fine.”

But there was doubt in her voice, like she was looking for reassurance herself, when Shae had none to offer.

She really wished Master Quan-Jang were here, so she could talk with him about it. She could call him, true, but it wouldn’t be the same. Besides, he wouldn’t really know anything. But the thought of her teacher reminded her of someone else: Daegen Lok.

Maybe he had sensed something more? Or seen something?

“Come on,” she said. “We’re calling the House of Visions.”

 

* * *

 

Daegen was feeling uneasy, and it was making him irritable. Really, the Force couldn't have been more thoughtful and sent him a proper vision to go with the sympathetic flash of pain in his arm and a moment of feeling restrained. All that he managed to glean from that was that it was from Tamid.

But being irritated did not mean that one should act irrationally. So Daegen sat down in his room and gave himself fifteen minutes to feel bad about not being ten years younger and not having done his meditating on the Force in a luxury resort on Krev Coeur so he could at least have kept up his physical skills. Then, he’d consider more constructive things—such as what he _could_ do.

Unfortunately, _that_ had proven to be equally frustrating.

Lha-Mi had been thoughtful enough to inform him of Tamid’s mission, undoubtedly so that he could worry like a good master ought to about their apprentice. He knew where the boy was.

Daegen could find a way to get to the capital ship, starting with contacting Acaadi and roping him into the plan. But finding Tamid and getting him out? That would not be as easy. For a moment, he entertained the idea of forcing some weak-willed creature on the ship to help him, but the idea relied too much on luck. He had no guarantee he’d find someone who spoke the same languages as he did on a vast ship like that.

And getting caught during a rescue attempt wasn’t just embarrassing, it was pathetic. He needed a better plan.

Except clearly, someone was not to let him come up with one, given that his holocomm beeped to announce a call. Daegen considered disconnecting it without ever answering, but he dismissed the idea. This was not the time to be petulant.

And it could be news about Tamid.

Two faces appeared, cast in pale blue—Shae Koda and Vev. They both appeared to be worried, which didn’t bode well.

“I think Tamid is in trouble,” Shae Koda said without preamble. “I sensed him—he was in pain and restrained. Did you see anything?”

“No, I didn’t,” Daegen answered, as he pulled a chair for himself to sit down. Both young women watched him anxiously, which really wasn’t helping. Wasn’t it enough that he had to cheer up his own apprentice? He had to do the same with other people’s students now too?

“We can’t do anything, can we?” Vev asked, her expression growing even more dismayed.

Shae put her hand on the other girl’s shoulder comfortingly. “You should come. We can fill you in best about everything when you’re here.”


	15. Where Garon Gets Introduced to the Local Comedy Act

Léionore had taken them directly to Stav Kesh. She didn’t look entirely happy about it, but she had to concede that there were a number of healers stationed there, who were also specialists in dealing with combat related injuries. And those included broken arms.

Besides, if she wanted to worry about complications, there was Garon, who had featured in at least one ominous vision as far as Tamid knew. The fact that, unlike him and Vev, Garon had been part of the invasion force wouldn’t help. Until the invasion was over, the most sensible thing that could be done with him was to keep him under surveillance.

And Tamid wasn’t sure how the old Force Hound would take that. He seemed calm now, true—in fact Tamid couldn’t sense the oily, cold Darkness from him at all anymore. Just the kind of emotions he’d expect from someone who lost someone recently and was freshly out of battle.

“Before we get there,” Tamid said, deciding it was probably better if Garon was aware of the possibility that he’d have to prove his good intentions, “you should know that… um… they might lock you up. Since-“

“They don’t know me, they don’t know why I did what I did and if I’m not following the orders of yet another power-hungry warlord,” Garon said calmly. “You don’t have to worry about me, Tamid. I’m aware this is the logical course of action. I won’t fight. Not against people who have reasonable fears about me.”

“You’re very level-headed,” Léionore observed from the pilot’s seat. “But now, sit down, both of you. We’re landing.”

Then everything went pretty quickly, and soon enough they were walking down the ramp. Lha-Mi was already waiting for them on the landing pad. He wasn’t alone—Shae and Vev were with him, and to Tamid's surprise, so was Daegen.

“Are you done getting beaten up, or do I need to keep following you around to make sure you don’t get yourself in trouble when I’m busy?” he asked as soon as Tamid was down on the ground.

Garon stopped just behind him, and Tamid sensed him tensing. He wasn’t sure why—this was just-

Oh, right, he didn’t know Daegen.

“That’d only mean I’d have to make sure you’re fine too,” he replied, adding a very theatrical eye-roll for Garon’s benefit. He really didn’t need him deciding Tamid had to be protected from Daegen’s talk.

“Well, then I’m going to be following you around,” Shae said firmly. “With a rancor.”

“And me!” Vev added.

“Master Lok, be so kind as to refrain from bonding with your apprentice until we’ve debriefed him,” Lha-Mi said dryly. “Shae and Vev can both come and make sure that make sure he isn't in any danger.” Then he turned to Garon and said, “As for you, I’ll ask you to come with Master Lok and Léionore, so they can debrief you.”

Shae could laugh all she wanted—she always had found them amusing—but Tamid thought separating him from Daegen this soon was uncalled for. 

 

* * *

 

 

Clearly, the head of the Temple of Martial Arts had intended the debriefing to be some sort of punishment for “Master Lok”. However, as far as Garon could tell, it had barely any effect, aside from a brief moment when the man had been annoyed.

Then, he had turned his attention to Garon.

“I’ve been meaning to ask—is there any particular reason why the rakata don’t tell Force Hounds anything about how their species reproduces, or are they just shy?” he asked.

There were only two possible reasons for that question—this was either some hazing ritual or a power play. Garon was inclined to guess it was the latter—apparently, Tamid was the man’s apprentice, and he was likely asserting his superiority over Garon, because Garon had been sceptical about their interactions before.

Well, he was not about to take the bait and get offended or flustered.

Besides, Léionore seemed to be curious about what he was going to answer.

“They don’t want us to know, because that gives us some measure of control over ourselves,” he replied. “If you don’t know why your owner gave you a cup and a private moment, then you won’t have reasons to resent them more than you already do. Or they simply think it’s useless for us to know and there are more productive uses of our time.”

Since they had reached a meeting room by then, Garon pulled out a chair for himself and sat down. He had no intention of picking a fight, but he wouldn’t cowed.

“I suppose I can just pick the option I find most horrible and assume it’s true,” the man said dryly. “So far it seems to be a recurring theme with them.”

“Do you want something to eat or drink, Garon?” Léionore asked, as she glanced at Lok. Her expression spoke of apprehension, and Garon sensed something like disbelief from her.

“I’m fine,” he answered automatically.

Lok sighed. “Just give him something to eat. The other two are bottomless pits—he’s going to be the same.”

Garon turned to him and gave him his best unimpressed look. “You should have told Léionore not to give me anything. You’re not very good at power games, are you? Please stop trying—compared with a sociopathic lizard with a sadistic streak you’re pathetically amusing at best.”

For a moment, Lok seemed insulted. He ran his hand through his hair and said haughtily, “I think I’m much more pleasant to look at.”

Garon had to give him that—it was the last thing he’d expected to hear. And, as such, he had little idea how to answer, other than just stare with what he suspected was a very unintelligent expression of total and utter confusion. 

 

* * *

 

 

There were a number of questions Daegen wanted to ask, and not all of them were the ones that he should be asking right now. Fortunately for Lha-Mi, he had enough self-control to recognize them. It was a bit of a pity that the old Force Hound seemed to be resistant to any attempts at defusing the tension, but he supposed the poor man likely had no experience in that.

“Well, now that we agree on something, let’s move on,” he said placidly.

“We do?” the other man asked, incredulous.

“Naturally,” Daegen replied. “You defected, which means you’re intelligent enough. Therefore, you clearly cannot think that… sociopathic lizards with a sadistic streak, as you charmingly put it, are better looking than I am. I admit, this is setting the bar a tad low, but nevertheless, I’m inclined to give your taste some credit.”

The Force Hound pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is pointless if you’re not going to listen to what I say—what is your name anyway? Lok?”

“Daegen Lok,” Daegen replied. “And I am listening to what you say—for example, is there more to your name, or is it just Garon?”

“Garon Jard,” the Force Hound answered, as he looked up. There was defiance in his posture now, as if he expected Daegen to question that. Come to think of it, he probably did expect that.

“Well then, Garon,” Daegen said, “let’s move on to business—why did you defect?”

Garon’s expression did not change—it remained neutral, but his brown eyes darted in the direction of the door, as if checking a way out was still there. Then, he looked back to Daegen.

“Because what I do matters,” he eventually said. “And I want to protect others from the Infinite Empire.”

Which was not a bad answer, but Daegen had to wonder about the timing of Garon coming to this conclusion. Why now? Why not ten or twenty years ago?

“That’s convenient timing for us,” he said.

“You should thank Xe- Tamid for this,” Garon replied. He caught himself pretty quickly, Daegen noticed. "I would not have realized that I could do more than just take lives."

Daegen managed not to smirk in satisfaction, but only just. The boy was turning out really well. He still intended to stay in Stav Kesh and make sure he was not undertaking any suicide missions, but that didn’t mean he intended to undermine his achievement in making the other Force Hound defect.

“And what do you intend to do to help?” he asked.

Garon hesitated. “I can fight,” he said quietly. “You will still need to get rid of the stragglers in the system. And with Gal’vor dead, the Infinite Empire may send reinforcements. You will need all the help you can get.”

The answer appeared to be honest. And with every thoughtful, honest answer like that it became more and more obvious to Daegen what the next question he should ask was.

“You feel different in the Force than Tamid or Vev did when they came to Tython,” he said. “How come?”

The man looked at Daegen for a while with a thoughtful expression. “It will take a while to explain.”

“We have time,” Daegen answered. “Go on.”

“The Force reacts to our motivation,” Garon said. “If you only care about one singular goal, to the point where everything else can burn, then you become like the rakata. With Force Hounds, this is usually fear of death. If you're not ready to do absolutely anything to survive, you will die before you can even be considered for training.

“I lived longer than most, and eventually… I think that fire simply burned out in me. And then-” He looked away, pain overshadowing all other emotions Daegen could sense from him. “Then I realized I care about more than just one thing. That I can’t sacrifice everything else in the name of my own goals and desires.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Their ship managed to outfly the explosion. It shook and tumbled for a while, buffeted by the shockwave, but once this dissipated its flight had evened out. Sek’nos breathed a sigh of relief and tried to sit down in a way that didn’t make his burned side hurt more.

The interior was cold, the walls made of bare metal. There were handles hanging from the ceiling, but they were too high for the children to grab. Most of them were trying to huddle close to one another, while still maintaining a small bubble of space around themselves, as if they wanted both the security of being part of a group and the safety of not letting anyone close enough to hurt them.

It was horribly depressing to watch.

“I think the Force likes you more than me,” Wylla said, as she looked up at him. “I don’t think we’d have gotten out if it were me putting my trust in it.”

“I guess you have to trust me to trust the Force then,” Sek’nos replied with a friendly smile.

The girl gave him a thoughtful look and Sek’nos looked back at her—she had dark wide-set eyes and dark, almost blue-black skin. Her hair was fairly short, surrounding her head like a black halo. Her presence in the Force was full of fear and pain, but she was trying to keep it all hidden.

“I guess I will,” she eventually said. “What will you do with us?”

Sek’nos wasn’t entirely sure himself, but he knew his answer would be important one way or another. If he made her a promise that he later couldn't keep, it would likely be far worse than with any other child.

“It’s not up to me,” he said. “I think you will be treated like new students from other planets. Well, first, those of your friends who don’t know any of the languages spoken here will have to learn one.” But that wasn’t reassuring at all, he thought. “What would you want?”

The girl looked taken aback by the question at first, then suspicious. Finally, she decided to answer. “Could I stay with you?”

“We can ask,” Sek’nos replied. 

 

* * *

 

 

Daegen Lok sat down in front of Lha-Mi and immediately looked like he was completely at home in Lha-Mi’s room. It was one of those moments, when Lha-Mi wondered if Daegen practiced any of this in secret. He wouldn’t have put it past the man.

The table between them had two cups and a pot of tea waiting for them. It was a new set—pale green with white arabesques—the last one having fallen victim to his youngest granddaughter.

“What do you think of him?” he asked. They both knew whom he meant—the latest refugee, the eldest Force Hound.

“He seems far too well-adjusted,” Daegen said. “I don't think he was lying about why he helped Tamid. Other than that, he does appear to be fairly intelligent, and has… surprising insight into the Force.”

“I see,” Lha-Mi replied. “And how will he take being questioned by the Council?”

Daegen shrugged. “Probably perfectly fine.” He took a sip of tea. “Do you want a recommendation on what to do with him?”

Lha-Mi nodded. He had his own ideas, of course, but he had only what Daegen and Tamid had told him to go on for now.

“Convince him to go to Akar Kesh,” Daegen said.

“Not Qigong Kesh?” Lha-Mi asked. “You said yourself he has insight into the Force.”

Daegen shook his head. “I don’t doubt he’s skilled, but I think Akar Kesh is a better place to consider the problem of how your motivation affects how you use the Force.”

Lha-Mi shook his head. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. First, I want to keep him under observation. Once the Council is satisfied, he can decide what to do with himself on his own.”


	16. Where Jenth Wants Everyone to Stop Having Fun

A few officers had made it onto Jenth's transport. One had even tried to claim her as his Force Hound, but he’d proven to be as much of a weak failure as the others. In the end, he had begged her—a slave—for his life. Besides, had any of them been competent, her Master would have been alive and her family would not need to die.

No, she could only trust one person to get everything right—herself.

“The moons around the gas giants had settlements,” she said to the pilot. The other woman—a green-skinned duros with large red eyes—was gripping the controls tightly, as if they were some sort of an anchor to safety. Jenth could sense her fear—the pilot was terrified of her. “Take us to the nearest abandoned one. We’ll make it our base of operations.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the pilot answered, her shaking hands now moving to program the route.

“And you,” she said turning to the short, slender zygerrian  in the co-pilots seat, “get the captains of the other ships and tell them to go there too. We will need a plan.”

Not all of them would listen, of course. Some of them would come hoping to take power for themselves. Perhaps one of them would even prove worthy. But deep down, Jenth knew that none of them had the strength and determination to cast everything away in the name of destruction.

They’d want to go home, or stay alive a little bit longer, unlike her. She had already lost everything, after all.

She looked out through the viewport at the darkness outside. It was overwhelming and hungry, she thought. The stars seemed so small and insignificant, forever in danger of being smothered  by the dark.

Life had always been constant struggle for her. She had survived until now, she had protected her family and it had been all for nothing.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized it was her right to lead the remaining troops her Master had left behind. Unlike the rakatan officers, she had had to fight all her life. They were soft creatures, pining for comfort, praise and honours, when they should have been devoting themselves to the goal of subjugation.

They’d learn, though. They’d suffer, too, and the suffering would make them better.

Or destroy them.

Jenth didn’t care. 

 

* * *

 

 

Tamid had left the healer after hearing a lengthy lecture on avoiding breaking bones. He wasn’t sure why exactly it was necessary—it wasn’t like _he_ was the one who had broken his arm, and even if he had done it, it wouldn’t have been for fun. He did prefer keeping the use of his limbs.

Still, it was generally sound advice, so he had listened to the end, until the healer had waved him away with a tired, “If you’re like the rest of them, I’m talking to a wall.”

By then, the exhaustion was really catching up with him, but it wasn’t the only thing that had crept up on him. The realization that Sek'nos and anyone else on the capital ship were likely dead, was also becoming more and more real in his mind.

Maybe, if he had stayed behind a little longer, tried to comm them from the bridge…

“You should eat something,” Shae said, as she got up from a seat she had been occupying while he was with the healer. “And rest too. You look exhausted.”

“I’m-“ He stopped himself, before saying he was fine. If people noticed he looked exhausted, then claiming he wasn’t was pointless and would just worry Shae more. That was still a bit weird—that she cared this much about how he felt. “I am.”

“Right, so you probably would rather eat something alone rather than in a shared room,” Shae said. “Let’s go.”

That was definitely true. Being in a group, even without interacting too much with it, was quite trying on its own, and right now it sounded pretty unbearable.

“Oh, and we had some good news, while Yanté was taking care of your arm,” Shae added, as she lead him away towards the transport cart that would take them to the quarters they’d been occupying in Stav Kesh.

That caught his somewhat wavering attention. “Did the other rakatan ships blow themselves up?”

“Hah,” Shae snorted. “Not that kind of good news. Sek’nos made it. He and Yanna managed to get a little horde of Force-sensitive children out of the… thing the rakata put them in to power the capital ship. And then they stole a ship. Ran-Era joined them. I don’t know what happened with Eille though.”

Tamid felt relief wash over him. He liked Sek’nos—it was really hard not to like him, and the thought that he had died on the capital ship in one of the pods had been really horrible. And now it turned out that he’d managed to save others from that too.

“Is he back already?” he asked, as they sat down in the cart. “Can we talk to him?”

“They sent them all to Mahara Kesh for now,” Shae replied, shaking her head. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but it seems someone got pretty banged up fighting a Force Hound, and they wanted to do a full check-up on the kids, and get them caught up on any vaccinations they might have missed.”

Tamid nodded. “I'm glad they made it.”

That seemed to be the limit of what his exhausted brain was capable of coming up for now, but it didn’t seem like Shae expected much of a conversation. She smiled and nodded at him.

“You can take a nap, if you want,” she said. “I’ll wake you up when it’s our stop.”

Tamid wasn’t sure that would work, even as tired as he was, but the idea of resting for a moment did sound tempting. He sunk deeper into his seat and closed his eyes. 

 

* * *

 

 

Garon was alone. Léionore had brought him to a room with an adjoining bathroom and told him that he’d be staying there for now. It was more spacious than most rooms he’d been quartered in, but then he supposed an arcology had no need to be as cramped as a spaceship.

He caught himself wondering if Jard would like it here. It was such a stupid mistake to make—he had seen the boy die, he should remember he was gone. But it seemed that habit was a much stronger force than knowledge.

The moment he thought of the boy, he was missing him terribly all over again. And not just that—he felt bitter old anger well up in him. At Dan’an for insisting that an untrained child play the part of a Force Hound, at himself for not being able to protect Jard, at Tamid for killing him, and at himself for not realizing he could just kill Dan’an and leave.

It was like a painful knot in his throat, a fire burning in his chest—it made breathing painful.

He wanted to forget it. But he didn’t want to forget Jard, and that seemed to be the only way to make those painful emotions go away.

He sat down on the bed and buried his face in his hands, as if hiding it would hide the fact that he was crying from himself.

It was only when his head was pounding and he was feeling completely exhausted that he finally managed to calm down—he was simply too worn out for the kind of emotional upheaval. The anger and pain had turned into a dull ache, constant, but bearable for now. They’d flare up again, once the wound was agitated, but for now… for now he could breathe again.

He could have left it at that, assumed it was enough, but… it wouldn’t last. And if it happened in front of Tamid, he might lash out at him. He didn’t want that. Not when the young man had already said he regretted Jard’s death and meant it. Or he’d break down at some other crucial moment, when he was needed for something else.

The last thing anyone needed was an old Force Hound feeling sorry for himself.

It would have been much easier if he’d known what to do next. All he had to go on were half-forgotten memories from his home planet—scraps of sentences about accepting the past, of forgiving others, of not holding onto pain.

And against that, he had all of his life, where pain and anger had been a shield and an anchor. When they’d been what let him survive.

Slowly, Garon sat up straighter. He took one deep breath, than another.

He’d start with the easiest part. With Tamid, who didn’t really deserve his anger. Who had been trying to protect others—who had been doing what Garon should have.

Then, once he was sure he could trust himself with talking about painful things with the young man, he’d ask him about how he had dealt with the guilt or with the anger towards his owner.

If he was to be more than just an old Force Hound, if he was going to truly help others, he had to start with making sure he was in the shape to do it. And there had been something, he’d learned as a child that he could still do on his own.

Garon closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. It took time to truly clear his mind and just feel the Force around him, but once he managed that, he could let it soothe him and find his way from there. 

 

* * *

 

 

It would be at least a few days before Léionore got another assignment, so she had time to spare. Under normal circumstances, she'd have gone to visit Dam-Powl to see how her research was going and share her own findings. Or she would have visited Mahara Kesh, if the cloned cell cultures on her ship had done anything of particular interest.

Maybe visit her parents, if time permitted. Although that had grown rarer and rarer, since every time she came back, she’d have to tell them that she had heard nothing about her brother and that he was still missing.

But that was during peacetime. Now, she needed to stay close to her ship, and for now that meant shore leave in Stav Kesh.

It was something of an impulse that she took upon herself to get a few changes of clean clothes for Garon—just enough for a few days, when he’d be able to get something on his own. She wasn’t sure what he’d like, but she figured trousers and a few shirts in neutral colours would be a safe bet. Something comfortable for everyday wear that wasn’t beaten-up armour and torn synth-leather.

Like all the other Temples, there was a thriving shopping district in Stav Kesh, where she could get just any clothes she liked. Or at least, it had been thriving before the war started. Like most of the Temple of Martial Arts, it was deep in the belly of the mountain. The shops had been hewn from the same dark rock and then covered in a layer of paler plaster, which then was usually painted into some more cheerful colour—or adorned with eye-catching murals, if the owner was more artistically inclined.

When she had last been there, all of the shops had been open, and the area had been brightly illuminated. Now, there were a number of empty storefronts, and when Léionore had finally found one that was open, she was the only customer.

The Selkath assistant had offered his help, for which Léionore was quite grateful. She had no idea what size Garon was, after all, but the assistant seemed to coax enough information out of her to make a guess. The good impression was bit marred when he tried offering her some more expensive things—she had no idea what colors Garon liked or if he'd feel comfortable in anything like that at all.

Eventually she’d settled for tunics and trousers in shades of brown and beige—the Temple colors of Stav Kesh and the most common colors for training clothes.

Then, she thought that maybe no one would think to get other essentials than clothes, so she continued her search for open shops through the abandoned, winding walkways. Eventually though, she had left another shop with yet another bag and no more reasons to stick around.

Except, instead of heading back to the district where Garon was being kept for now, she still lingered, unsure just why. It seemed invasive, all of a sudden, to just get things for him as though they hadn't only known each other for a few hours.

As she mulled over how to best approach that, she walked by a small stall with home-made treats (or at least treats that were being advertised as home-made). It was squeezed between two other larger shops, but unlike them, it was open. A plump sullustan man was standing behind it, his teeth flashing in an inviting grin. She stopped and looked at the warm buns—she remembered them from her own Great Journey quite fondly. For something that was filled with sugar and cheese, they had been quite amazingly tasty. Maybe a few of them would smooth over any awkwardness over her possible over-stepping of boundaries?

It wouldn’t hurt to try, at least.

An insulated container and a flask with hot tea made its way to her shopping bags.


	17. Where Our Heroes and Villains Alike Find Reasons to Worry

Garon woke up with a start when he heard someone open the door. It was, as it turned out, a fortunate thing he’d fallen asleep while sitting, and so while his mind was awake, his left leg certainly wasn’t. But in the time it took for him to register that (and that he couldn’t get up quickly enough to attack before he was attacked), he realized that he was no longer with Da’nan and that the person at the door was Léionore. Who was holding several bags for some reason.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” she said quickly. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer-“

“It’s fine,” he said, as he got up. “Please, don’t trouble yourself on my account.”

To his mounting confusion, she blushed then and looked at her bags. Then, she held out one towards him, and blurted out, “I got some local treats for you.”

Garon accepted it. Their fingers brushed by accident as he took it—and even if it wasn’t one, he wasn’t about to show that it affected him. As lovely as she was, she’d have men who weren’t escaped slaves with very little idea of what they were doing, and likely didn’t react to being woken up with thinking about how to murder whoever woke them up before they could kill them.

“They’re pretty simple, just buns filled with sweet cheese, but they’re quite nice,” Léionore continued, still obviously nervous for some reason that Garon couldn’t fathom.

“Thank you,” he said. “Would you like to share them with me?”

That could be done from a safe distance with a table between them, after all. And there _could_ be a different reason why she was being so awkward for all he knew.

She smiled then, and fumbled with the other bags for a moment, before setting them down on the floor.

“I also got some clothes for you, and a few more things, in case you need them,” she said.

“That’s-“ he started to say and fumbled, unsure what the correct response here was. “I’m sure you have more important things to do than this—please don’t-“

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m on leave right now,” she said quickly. “It really was no trouble at all.” Then, she gave him an apologetic smile, “I don’t know your size, so they may be a bit too big.”

That really was the last thing on his mind right now. It was flattering in a way that she’d go to that length, but they’d spent only a few hours together. She had no idea about what he was, and come to think of it, given how awkward she was being, she was probably quite inexperienced herself, which definitely meant it was on him to let her down before she got too invested.

“How can I repay you?” he asked once he was sure he could manage to sound reasonably like himself.

“You don’t have to,” she said and gave him a warm smile. Then, she added, “Really, sharing some of those buns will be quite enough.”

“It’s not,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to use your feelings and your kindness.”

It didn’t exactly work like he intended. Léionore frowned and answered, “You’re not _using_ anything—I did this all of my own free will.”

It was a good point. He hadn’t asked her to do any of this, but still, he knew that it was a bad idea to let her continue. “I’m grateful,” he said. “But please, you need to listen to me. The first time I killed someone, I was eleven. I've been a Force Hound since I was thirteen. It's been twenty-seven years of nothing else. I could hurt you without meaning to, simply because you touch me at the wrong moment and I will react before realize you’re not a threat.”

“So you’re going to push away anyone who tries to be close to you?” Léionore asked her expression turning stubborn. “You can unlearn that—you’re a thinking being, not a droid. You can change. But you won’t be able to do that all on your own. You will need help.” She held her hands up, stopping any reply from him before it left his lips. “And I’m not offering my help because I pity you or because I want something in return. It’s just—you’re a kind person. That’s obvious. You shouldn’t be alone because of that.”

“You do want something,” Garon replied. “But it will pass—I don’t know why you’re attracted to me, but it’s just that.”

Léionore took a deep breath. Then another. “Does that really mean that you won’t even try being friends with me? I’m not going to ask for something you don’t want.”

It really wasn’t that he didn’t want it. Far from it, but it was better if she believed that he wasn’t interested. Eventually, without nurturing, the attraction would pass. Or someone more suitable would come along—someone who had grown up in this system and not in the Infinite Empire.

“If friends is all we will be, then I can try,” he said. “But that is all I can offer.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Daegen was not going back to the House of Visions. The other seers were perfectly capable of waiting for a vision to hit them without him, and he was quite certain that if the Force was going to send one to him, it would damn well send it regardless if he was in the Silent Desert or on a toilet.

Unfortunately, he clearly could not trust Tamid not to get suicidal ideas when left alone. So, he was going to stay in Stav Kesh and make sure that Lha-Mi didn’t use that for any nefarious purposes.

“There’s no one else to assassinate,” Tamid pointed out in a far to reasonable tone. “All of the possible replacements for Gal’vor would have been on the capital ship, and it went down. We’re left with mostly junior officers, who will be flailing around or trying to off each other to end up in charge.”

“That’s not the point,” Daegen said firmly. “They’re still a threat.”

Tamid frowned, apparently confused about the issue. Then, after a moment, he looked at Daegen with an expression of such surprise that it was almost comical. “You’re worried I’ll get hurt again,” he said, sounding as if that was something highly unusual.

“Of course I am,” Daegen said impatiently. “Did you think I came here because I enjoy freezing at high altitudes?”

Tamid still seemed to be completely taken aback by this development. Eventually, he mumbled, “Oh. No- I… um, I was too tired to think why you were here.”

Then he started picking at the hem of his sleeve.

“Will it help you remember that I will be worried, if I write it down?” Daegen asked, as he reached out to pat the boy’s shoulder. “I’m not trying to embroider it, I’m too old to learn anything like that.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Tamid said, still stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes. “But wouldn’t it be worse if I did nothing and you, and Shae, and everyone else here ended up dead or enslaved?”

That was a fairly good point, Daegen had to concede that. He knew he was being selfish in wanting to keep Tamid safe, but it didn’t change the fact that he did not want him to put himself in danger, even if it was necessary.

“It can’t be helped,” he eventually said. “If you're going to put yourself in danger, I'm going to worry.” He considered what to say next for a moment. Really, he was quite certain he had been far less complicated as an apprentice. Even when he was fourteen and had talked some other children into playing tag with one of Quan-Jang’s test subjects. “And you did really well. But next time, perhaps it might help if your escape didn’t rely on another Force Hound having a change of heart.”

Tamid looked up then.

“I had a better plan,” he said. “And it worked, too. I just needed to improvise a bit to get to a point where I could follow the better plan.”

“I see,” Daegen said dryly. “That makes all the difference, then.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Shartoaa knew something was deeply wrong as soon as he disembarked from his ship. There was something in the air, in the Force, that made him feel on edge. It was almost as if a hidden predator had kept on watching him, until he reached the building that served as an impromptu command center.

Inside, there was chaos. Wounded hobbled around, performing simpler, less strenuous tasks, while healthy soldiers worked on setting up heavier equipment. Shartoaa had expected yelling and cursing, but every single person was silent. He realized why as soon as he entered the first room.

A weequay girl sat behind the table. She was dressed in a Force Hound’s armour, although her helmet lay discarded beside her. The letter “jenth” stood out sharply against her thick red-brown skin. But it was the eyes that drew most attention—they were yellow, the iris surrounded by a red sunburst-like outline.  

She watched him calmly, as if she weren’t a slave.

“You are the highest ranking officer now,” the girl said as she rose. She was shorter than him and slender—not yet fully grown. Her movements was graceful and full of purpose. She strode towards him and stopped just a meter away. “Kneel.”

“What?” he snapped—or tried to, at least. It came out as a strangled squeak instead. There was just something, some sort of presence, about the girl that made him feel like a rodent before a snake.

“ _Kneel_ ,” she hissed. “You’re not fit to take over after my master. So, you will follow me.” Her right hand rested on the hilt of her lightsaber. “Or die. Your choice.”

She indicated to the left with her other hand, and when Shartoaa looked towards what she was pointing to, he recoiled. There were bodies lying there, their heads neatly chopped off. He recognized a few of them—all had been officers like him.

He really didn’t have much of a choice, he realized. It was serve or die. The girl may have been marked as a slave, but she had reached towards the kind of power Shartoaa had always feared. It was almost as if he were standing before a singularity in the Force.

So, he did the only logical thing he could do.

He knelt. 

 

* * *

 

 

Shyrra had been returning from another attempt at dropping Flesh Raiders on one of the planets when the capital ship went down. She still couldn’t believe her luck—somehow, she had managed to avoid the void battle and keep away from the damned native star fighters. The blasted space-offal was far too nimble for her liking.

Still, she had prevailed. She wasn’t sure what exactly that meant for her; without the capital ship, she had nowhere to return to and refuel. Had she been piloting a fighter, she could have refueled on one of the escorts, but a troop transport was far too large for that.

She had been pondering this problem when the transmission came. A duros woman had given her coordinates, where she was supposed to rendezvous with the remnant of the fleet. Shyrra had not complied right away—the other pilot had been nervous, bordering on panicking.

Still, there had been no other orders. Shyrra didn’t have much of a choice.

She hadn’t been the only one to follow the order. Several other ships, mostly starfighters had joined her on her approach to the moon that was the rendezvous point. When she landed, she had found even more ships sitting around a rather small settlement. There was a camp set up around it, although how anyone could want to sleep in a tent when it was so cold outside was beyond Shyrra. She was going to sleep in her ship, if there was no place in any of the buildings, that was for sure.

“You!” a givin with the insignia of a triarius barked at her. “Hastatus!”

Shyrra gritted her teeth and stood to attention. “Sir?”

“Did you bring the troops you were transporting?” the triarius asked.

Shyrra shook her head. “Negative. I dropped them off as ordered.”

The givin snarled something under their breath and shook their head in irritation. “Useless. Well, don’t you stand there, you sack of meat! Report to command that you're ready for duty!”

Shyrra didn’t let the triarius cow her. They may have been a veteran, but she wasn’t a snot-nosed brat on her first mission either. She saluted briskly and hurried towards the building in the center of the settlement.

Like most of it, it was a squat, practical thing with thick walls and small windows. Someone had painted geometric patterns in red around the entrance and the windows at some point,  though the colour had faded somewhat.

She passed through the door, grunting with effort as she pushed it open. Clearly, no one had thought to install a mechanism that would open it.

The inside was brightly lit, which made Shyrra’s eyes water for a moment. She stumbled forward, until she finally reached the central room. There, in the center of the room, was a Force Hound. Still young, but something about her made Shyrra’s skin crawl.

“Hastatus Shyrra reporting for duty,” she said, looking around for someone in charge.

There were several officers in the room, and one of them was even rakatan, but they all kept their distance.

“Go help set up the camp,” the Force Hound said. When Shyrra looked at her in confusion, she snorted. “Oh stop being such an idiot. _I_ ’m in charge, you brainless woman. And if you don’t get moving right now, I’m going to make sure you are not just metaphorically brainless.”

She patted her lightsaber as she spoke and licked her lips. Belatedly, Shyrra noticed the beheaded body of an officer lying next to the girl’s feet. Self-preservation instinct took over, and she saluted with parade-ground precision before fleeing outside.


	18. Where Familiar Solutions Are Relied on Once More

The forests of Ska Gora burned. With the capital ship, the rakatan fleet could have put all of them to the torch at once, but even without it they could still do a lot of damage. With so much of the surface of the planet covered in woods, it had been enough that a few starfighters and one transport slipped past the Rangers’ blockade.

The transport had dropped a payload of bombs, while the fighters shot at the trees, setting large swaths aflame, until finally they were shot down. But by then it was too late, and their destruction had fueled the blaze further. It kept spreading, despite valiant efforts to stop the fire on the surface.

Vrellshyrr did his best to direct the other adults of his tribe as they dug a trench. Other tribes, as well as the dwellers of the floating cities, had joined them in this effort, in the hopes that it would limit the area of the fire long enough for it to burn out.

For now, the fire was still far enough away, but they could all smell the smoke in the air. The animals had long since ran away, and the only sounds were the rustling of leaves, their voices and the distant roar of flames. Time kept ticking by, and they had already lost a swath of forest.

Sweat matted Vrellshyrr’s fur, but he wouldn’t stop until either the trench had been dug or they had to run.     

  

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t over—the attack on Ska Gora had made it quite clear. It didn’t take the Force to figure out that it was not going to be the last such attack. Ters even suspected they’d be equally brutal, but when the vision came, he knew what the source had been.

The Force Hound from Tasha and Daegen’s visions sat in the middle of a busy room. She was still in her armour, her helmet at her arm. There was something wrong with her. The darkness in the Force was being drawn to the furnace of fury that she had become.

As though by instinct, the other beings in the room, be they rakata, soldier, or slave, gave her as wide a berth as they could. She watched the room with disdain, her eerie yellow eyes moving languidly from one spot to another.

She might have been the focus of his vision, but Ters knew that if he let his attention stay only on her it’d be of little help. He tried to take stock of his surroundings, glean something about the architecture. Though the lines of the walls blurred a bit at the edges, he thought he recognized the type of building it was—one of the constructions that were common on the moon colonies at the edges of the system.

It was a solid structure with thick walls—inelegant, but practical in the harsh climate of the moons. The windows were small, designed to let only the minimal amount of heat escape through them, while letting still some light through. But there was nothing behind them now—only darkness. He couldn’t see anything that would help him identify the location. The darkness had started to creep into the walls, eating away at them and the floor, until Ters knew that he was simply sitting with his eyes closed.

Slowly, he rose and stretched his limbs.

Master Lha-Mi would need to know of this.

  

* * *

 

 

They were going to have to change tactics. It was quite obvious from how the attack on Ska Gora had been conducted that the fleet of the Infinite Empire no longer cared about keeping the system’s biological resources mostly undamaged. A forest in cinders and thousands of dead were a pretty solid hint, after all.

And with Ters’s vision, they knew who was behind it—Gal’vor’s former Force Hound. Clearly, the girl was an ambitious one—starting leading an army into war at such a tender age. Now the question was _why_ and how they could protect themselves from the new leader of the rakatan army.

“I was starting to wonder if there was something terribly wrong with their way of picking their Force Hounds,” Daegen commented dryly. He looked at Vev, Tamid and Garon Jard. “All of you have embraced avoiding violent solutions, after all.”

“I don’t understand why she’s doing this at all,” Tamid said. The boy seemed to be torn between being mystified and angry—a pretty reasonable reaction, given that his skill in sensing and affecting plants through the Force. “She’s free. She can do anything she wants.”

“Which technically involves killing anyone she wants,” Vev replied. Daegen supposed it was a reasonable enough answer, though he’d have been happier if Gal’vor’s former Force Hound had not reached this conclusion. Meanwhile, Vev started frowning. “Though I think she must be terribly confused about something, if she’s killing trees. It’s not like they did anything to her.”

Which was another fine point. Maybe they should inform the other Force Hound about it, and point her towards less destructive pastimes, while they were at it?

Garon Jard ran his hand over his face. “She’s avenging Gal’vor.” He sounded tired but unsurprised. “I don’t know why she’d do that, but it’s the only explanation.”

Well, if that was the case, Daegen thought there was a lot to be said about the girl’s devotion. It was a pity no one introduced her to a less destructive object, such as an active volcano, for example.

Vev’s eyes opened wide then and she gasped. “So that’s what the whole thing with him being a heretic was about—he figured out how to make a Force Hound loyal after their master’s death.”

Which didn’t help them by much, but he supposed it was nice to have an answer to this all the same.

“Can any of you guess what she will do next?” Lha-Mi asked, as it was apparently time to direct the discussion towards more productive grounds.

“Attack a large population center,” Garon Jard said after a moment. He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular as he spoke—his brown eyes were focused at some point outside the window instead. “It’s about destroying as much as she can, now, rather than conquest. She’s lashing out because she finally can.”

“You sound like you’re sorry for her,” Tamid said his tone incredulous.  

“I am,” Garon Jard answered. “Aren’t you?”

The boy seemed surprised by the question. “But she’s killing people for no good reason.”

“I don’t have to agree with her to feel sorry for her,” Garon Jard replied calmly. “She’s in pain, and no matter what she does, it won’t go away.” He turned to Lha-Mi. “If you let me, I will deal with her. I killed her master. It’s my responsibility.”

“Perhaps it might be better to find a solution that doesn’t involve you martyring yourself?” Daegen said. “While the prospect may be disappointing now, I’m sure you will appreciate staying alive in a few months.”

Garon Jard did not appear to be impressed. In fact, he seemed to be reaching new heights of being unimpressed. “She won’t kill me,” he said with perfect certainty.

“You’re forgetting she’s surrounded by soldiers,” Tamid pointed out. “She may not be able to kill you in a one-on-one fight, but she’ll know not to try.”

Garon Jard clearly didn’t like what he had heard. But then, that had not been the point, obviously. “I know this. I know she will expect someone to try to kill her. But it will have to be done sooner or later—and if you send me, there will be fewer lives lost than if you tried luring her out into open battle.”

Daegen could practically see the cogs in Lha-Mi’s brain turn at that. And he could see why he’d like the solution—it had worked before, hadn’t it? True, Daegen had the advantage of his family being originally from Shikaakwa, and Hadiya had been far easier to approach, but the idea behind it was the same: cut off the head.

“You make a good point,” Lha-Mi said, which didn’t surprise Daegen at all. “But before we send you to do that, we still need to establish how we should best protect ourselves in the meantime. And what to do in case you fail.”

“I won’t,” Garon Jard replied. There was no doubt in his voice or in his Force presence. There was only a terrible kind of iron-clad certainty there and a calm born of already having made his choice. It made for a striking contrast with his honest pity for the girl only moments before.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Daegen said.

To his surprise, Garon Jard made a very undignified snort in response. “Wait, everything you’ve said so far wasn’t an attempt to do just that?”

Really, his effort was wasted on some people.

  

* * *

 

 

Garon had stayed with Lha-Mi after the others had left. Tamid seemed to hesitate, likely intent on trying once more to talk him out of going after Jenth, but Garon had made up his mind. What she was doing now was a consequence of his choices—that he still believed that killing Gal’vor had been the right choice didn’t change it at all. Neither did the fact that he had had no reason to expect her to want to avenge Gal’vor.

“It’s going to be lunch time soon,” Lha-Mi said. “Would you like to join me, while we discuss the details of your plan?”

Garon hesitated for a moment—it hadn’t really occurred to him anyone might ever invite him to eat with them, and it was somewhat jarring to have it happen like that.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’d like to.”

“I don’t eat meat,” Lha-Mi said, as he led him towards a table. “I hope you don’t mind a meal without it?”

“No, it’s fine,” Garon said without thinking. “I can eat anything.”

“Can and like are not the same,” Lha-Mi replied, his mouth quirking in a smile. “I sometimes do miss it, but I think as someone whose function deals with violence, I should minimize how much pain I cause.”

Maybe it was over-reacting, but all of a sudden Garon felt a sense of relief. He hadn’t realized it until now, but the sentiment Lha-Mi had just expressed had been something he had been feeling for long time now. Before every fight in the arena, every time his owner would try to get him to fight longer, to toy with his opponent…

“You’re right,” he said. “We should avoid causing pain, if we can.”

Lha-Mi looked at him with a thoughtful expression then. “Daegen Lok was right. It is odd that you, out of all possible people, were picked to be a Force Hound and help conquer others. It doesn’t seem to be your nature at all.”

Garon didn’t know how to answer that. Truth to be told, it hadn’t even occurred to him that there had been any dissonance until Lha-Mi had mentioned it. Or maybe he simply hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, because once he did…

Once he did he had to admit to himself just what he was. What kind of person… what kind of monster. Here he was talking about avoiding causing pain, when all his life he had been bringing it. Blindly following orders—what did it matter that he tried to win quickly, to kill quickly, when in the end, he had killed nonetheless?

“You’re wrong,” he said. “It is my nature. My first instinct _is_ to fight—I have to stop myself consciously every time someone moves too quickly or walks into the room unexpectedly.”

“And yet you do just that,” Lha-Mi said after a moment. “Is it really less admirable that you are going against your nature, because you believe that following your instincts would be wrong?”

“That’s not the point,” Garon said, his voice breaking. “I never did enough. I- I tried. But if killing someone meant I’d live, I did it. I could have done more.”

Lha-Mi motioned for him to sit down before doing so himself. Garon felt a slight twinge in his knee as he sat down cross-legged on one of the cushions on the floor. It had been protesting for a while now, though since it wasn't bad enough to limit his mobility yet, he ignored it.

Instead, he focused on his hands, which he had clenched into fists, making the old and new scars stand out more.

“We occasionally have people end up trapped in the mountains,” Lha-Mi said. “When we find them, the survivors will feel like you, often. But it’s not that simple—to help others, you must be able to survive yourself.”

“So, I can start now,” Garon said, still somewhat shaky. But thinking like that helped to keep himself from falling apart completely. He looked up at Lha-Mi, who was watching him with a worried expression, mirrored by his presence in the Force.

“Perhaps we should put away talking about the war for after the meal,” Lha-Mi said after a moment. “After all, this will be your first warm meal on Tython, won’t it?”


	19. Where Some People Are Trying to Be Constructive Against All Odds

When her Master had been alive, Jenth had had no idea how far the rot went. But now, with his death and the certain doom of her family, her eyes were finally open to the weakness and cowardice that she was surrounded by.

It was like being submerged in a sea of fear—everyone from the lonely rakatan officer that was her second-in-command to the lowliest slave was afraid of her. They were afraid of death and of suffering, of the natives, of the Infinite Empire finding out how they had failed their predor…

She hated them, just as she hated the natives and the traitorous offal that was hiding amongst them. They did not deserve to live.

“We need to conserve our strength until reinforcements come,” Shartoaa said, as though trying to converse with an angry beast. Perhaps that really was how he saw her. “You plan is… bold.”

Jenth snorted. Her plan had one goal: destroy as much as they could. Troops would die, but they deserved to die for their weakness.

“We should not count on reinforcements,” she said. “All we need to do is show everyone the might of the Infinite Empire.”

It was a lie—there was no might here, other than what burned in her soul—but it was the kind of lie that would silence those that would argue with her. After all, denying that they represented the might of the Empire was treason.

“And can we really do that if we all die?” Shartoaa asked. Clearly, he had more guts than she had credited him with. But still not enough. She could sense his fear, like an acrid potent stench.

“If they fight hard enough, they won’t die,” she said coldly and put her hand over her ‘saber. “Do not question me.”

Shartoaa recoiled, his brief moment of courage already fading. The one reminder of who—what she was had been enough to smother it.

Pathetic.

Was there truly no one out there who was not a pathetic puppet ruled by their fear?

 

* * *

 

 

“One of us should go with him,” Tamid said, as he sat down in front of Vev.

“He won’t need help,” Vev replied, surprised by his sentiment. The flames on her face creased with her frown, giving the appearance of motion.

“He might need someone to drag him back,” Tamid answered, shaking his head. “Would you have trusted yourself after you realized what you'd been?”

No matter how calm and collected Garon appeared to be, he had to be at least shaken. And in this state, who knew what he’d do. The guilt alone could drive him to something he would not do if given time to find himself again.

“And if he feels guilty enough to get reckless, why do you think someone being with him will help?” Vev asked. She appeared unconvinced. “Won’t it just put me or you in danger too?”

Tamid took a moment to think, as he added milk to his hot chocolate. He stirred it in silence, watching it turn a lighter brown. Out of the corner of his eye, he could Vev sprinkling something into hers—some sort of strong smelling spice. He still had trouble telling those apart by name.

“I don't think he will knowingly put another person in danger,” he said eventually, as he thought back to the little boy back on Gal’vor’s capital ship. “But he will probably still put himself in danger to protect anyone with him. So that’s not a good idea, after all.”

He didn’t like the conclusion he was coming to—that there was nothing he could really do.

“But doesn't that mean that we can tell him he should come back, because there’s stuff he can still do to help others?” Vev asked. “I mean, there are those kids that your friend rescued, right? And they need to learn how to talk one of the local languages, and without him it’s just me and you who can teach them anything, and you won’t manage with more than two at once, because you’ll feel crowded.”

“I can manage three kids,” Tamid protested. Really, he wasn’t that bad about it. Still, it was a good idea. “But we can tell him that if he really feels he needs to make up for being a Force Hound, he’ll do it better while alive.”

“Really, that’s kind of obvious,” Vev huffed. “You can do most things much better while you’re alive. Since when you’re dead you can’t do anything.”

  

* * *

 

 

If not for the fact that his old armour had been damaged when he was fighting Gal’vor, Garon would have been ready to leave by now. But he needed to wait for a replacement, so he sat on the floor in the room he’d been given and kept disassembling and reassembling his ‘saber. By now, he could probably do it in his sleep, but it was either doing that or walking around in circles.

He took out the purple crystal and closed his fingers around it. It was warm to the touch, as if he were holding a living creature. He could feel it in the Force too— it was almost a part of him. He had had it ever since he had built his ‘saber over twenty-five years ago—he’d never lost it, like some others.

He uncurled his fingers and started reassembling the ‘saber. It was worn by now, but so familiar he would recognize it just by touch.

Once assembled, it was like a part of his body. Holding it felt easy, like breathing. He barely felt the weight of it anymore. He ignited it and watched the purple blade until he had to close his eyes. Using it was too easy. Igniting it felt too natural. So once Jenth was dead, he’d destroy it. No one should be so intimately familiar with a weapon that using it was as natural as breathing.  

He was about to disassemble it again, when someone knocked on the door. A mere formality—it could be opened from the outside, but he did appreciate the warning. He didn’t want to hurt anyone just because they had startled him.

The door opened and admitted Vev and Tamid. Garon had not expected them—to be truthful, he hadn’t expected anyone.

“We need to talk to you,” Tamid said.

“Of course,” Garon said, bemused. “Take a seat.”

Neither of them did, so they were left standing facing him. Vev had to crane her neck up, and he finally realized that he’d have to sit down himself first if he wanted them to do the same. He sunk to the spot on the floor he had been sitting in before they had come, and moments later they followed suit.

Tamid sat cross-legged, hands resting palms up on his knees. Vev was kneeling. Side-by-side, they were quite the contrasting pair: Tamid in dark grey with hints of cold blue scattered over his clothes, and Vev in fiery red.

“You need to come back,” Vev said bluntly.

That didn’t seem to have been Tamid’s plan, since he gave her an exasperated look.

“What? There’s no reason to sugar-coat it,” she said. “You need to stay alive, so you can help others—there are the children Tamid’s friend and the Knight saved from the capital ship. And there will be more people. So-“

“If I die, I won’t be able to do anything but serve as fertilizer,” Garon said. “I know. I don’t intend to die.”

Tamid breathed out, and Garon sensed relief from him. From both of them, actually. It hadn’t occurred to him until then that they were actually worried about him. The thought seemed quite alien, but the Force was not lying.

“I’ll come back, I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rajivari sat down in front of Ketu. It had been a while since they had talked—while Ketu was not a warrior, he was still involved in the war to a much greater extent than Rajivari. He couldn’t help but feel rather disgruntled about it. He was not ancient and decrepit yet.

“Daegen Lok is recommending that we take in the latest ex-Force Hound once the war is over,” Ketu said, as offered Rajivari some tea.

“He should be recommending it to the Force Hound, not to us,” Rajivari said dryly. “If he has the right approach, then we will accept him, if not, then we won’t.”

Ketu sighed with exasperation. “Thank you, Master. I was not aware that Daegen’s recommendations aren’t law.” He shook his head. “I’m going to ask you to consider teaching this man, if he wants to learn here.”

Rajivari raised his eyebrows. “You suspect he will be more open to my teachings than Vev?”

Ketu smiled faintly then. “Not all of them, hopefully. But I believe you will both benefit from it—just as you have from teaching Vev.”

Rajivari chose not to comment on the insult. He had known for a long time that Ketu didn’t agree with him on certain matters, and had accepted it. He would not convince him to leave the path of timidity and compromise and seize the birthright that belonged to all those sensitive to the Force.

“We’d never become like the Infinite Empire,” he said softly. “We’re not weak. We’re not afraid.”

Ketu opened his mouth to protest, but Rajivari raised his hand to stop him.

“I will consider it,” he said. “If this man proves to be the type of student I am looking for, then I will teach him.”

“It’s all I’m asking,” Ketu said. He took a sip of the tea. “We don’t know anything for certain yet, after all.”

Rajivari nodded. “We do not.”

There were a number things that could go wrong, or make any of the people involved change their minds. But for now, he was willing to consider taking another student. Perhaps this one would not break off the apprenticeship as abruptly as Vev had.

 

* * *

 

 

The hologram was slightly grainy and blue—it didn’t show the detail of Acaadi’s fur, or what was behind him. It occasionally jumped and spasmed, but the sound was coming through. After all, what was the point of looking pretty, if you couldn’t yell that you were on fire and needed help now?

One had to have priorities.

“Most of them are sitting on Ombra,” Acaadi said. “I think the ones that wanted to join their new leader have done it already, so we can assume that those not on [moon] will either fight us on their own or surrender.”

“They don’t really have a reason to fight us without a threat over their head,” Daegen commented. “Unfortunately, it seems not all of them realize that if they give up, we won’t have a reason to hurt them. Clearly, being a member of the Infinite Empire is not conducive to being reasonable.”

Acaadi snorted. “Perhaps if we manage to get news out of the current defectors, they will change their minds?”

“I could say they may, but likewise, I could say that they spent far too much time being indoctrinated to be able to think for themselves,” Daegen replied. “Or see past the end of their nose.”

“That’s not very encouraging,” Acaadi pointed out. He gave him a wry smile. “Not that I expected comforting lies from you.”

“Lha-Mi hopes that if Garon Jard kills the new leader, the others will realize the occupational hazard is too high,” Daegen said, figuring that he ought to at least try providing some reassurance. Unlike him, Acaadi was constantly in danger.

Well, perhaps not constantly, but far too often for Daegen’s liking.

“From what your apprentice says about them, I’d assume it’s no higher than what they’d normally expect,” Acaadi replied, sounding unconvinced.

“Oh no,” Daegen answered wryly. “If we assassinate this one, we will have a hundred percent efficiency rate, which the Infinite Empire has yet to achieve. We did the maths a while ago, and ten percent of the rulers actually do manage to survive to old age and die of natural causes.”


	20. Where We Learn the Difference Between a Good Force Hound and a Bad One

Getting to the moon where the rakatan forces were regrouping had been a lot less complicated than being inserted onto an enemy ship. It still wasn’t easy—there were patrols around the moon, and they had to sneak past them, but in the end, Garon had landed on the moon safely.

The pilot—a red-skinned twi’lek named Sanaa—would stay behind and wait for Garon to come back the next day. Garon left him and stepped out of the ship into the cold, windy landscape. Fine, grey sand whispered under his feet and blew about on the gusting wind. Small hills rose and fell gently in his way, hiding him from sight.

Garon took a moment to center himself before setting out towards where he had sensed living beings. They were quite far away, but even from such a distance, Garon could sense their fear. It was clouding their thoughts and dominating their emotions.

It had made them sloppy—they hadn’t noticed Garon’s approach at all, until it was too late and he was standing before them. To be fair, he had made sure to keep out of sight, and his dark armour and clothes blended with the surroundings.

One soldier was a massive wookiee with russet-brown fur, the other a wiry human with pale skin and a bald scarred head. They stopped dead in their tracks. The wookiee groped towards his weapon, while the human gaped mutely.

“I’m not here to fight you,” Garon said holding his hands up to show he was not holding any weapons. “I want to talk with Jenth.”

Neither of the soldiers seemed to have any intention of moving from where they stood.

“You don’t want to fight me either,” Garon continued. “You’d die. If you bring me to Jenth, you will live—if you don’t, she will kill you for letting me slip by, even if I let you flee.” He knew the next part was a gamble, just as he knew that if the soldiers chose to fight him, they would not be the ones to survive. “I killed Gal’vor.”

The reaction was instant. The wookiee finally managed to pull out his gun, just as the human scrambled backwards, too panicked to fight.

Garon drew his lightsaber—it was enough to stop them. The wookiee threw his hands up.

_“We’ll bring you to her_ ,” he said. 

 

* * *

 

 

Jenth remembered Mern, insofar as she remembered other Force Hounds. He was a potential threat to her Master, and therefore needed to be watched when in his presence. She had assumed he wouldn’t be as much of a problem as younger Force Hounds, though. He had to be getting less fit by now.

Clearly, she had been very wrong.

“You killed my Master?” she asked, as she watched the human man.

He seemed so calm. She’d have expected some sort of triumph or joy, or _something_ , but it really seemed like he was only mildly sad about something. That made no sense—why would he kill her Master, if all he felt about it was a bit upset?

“I did,” Mern answered.

Jenth didn’t need to hear anything more. He had no excuse—he’d ruined her life and had the gall to admit it so brazenly. And there was something else—the way he looked at her. Like she was some sort of broken creature that needed pity.

She screamed with the force of all her anger as she lunged at him. Mern turned aside—a fluid, minimal movement that nonetheless deflected the blow harmlessly. She pivoted around her axis, lunching another strike, aimed at Mern’s mid-section.

He dodged her again—and again, he had only put the bare minimum of effort into it. It was a clear insult. She wasn't worth more to him than that, it seemed. Well, she’d show him just how wrong he was.

She kicked at his knee, but somehow, again, he was just out of her reach.

“This is pointless,” he said. He sounded almost kind, like a concerned parent rather than her opponent. “You won’t win.”

She shrieked again, but this time she poured her hate into the Force differently. Lightning sprung from her finger tips—he wouldn’t dodge that. It was hate made manifest, after all, and it’d always find its target.

Mern hadn’t made any attempt to move out of its way. Instead, for the first time, his ‘saber flared to life. Her lightning danced harmlessly over the purple blade, never touching its target.

“Is that it?” Jenth snapped. “Are you just going to stand there being useless and refuse to fight me?”

“We have no reason to fight,” Mern replied in the same concerned, kind voice. Then, something hardened about his expression, and he added, “Yet.”

Jenth snarled. If that was his game, she wasn’t going to play it. “Shoot him!” she snapped. Only silence answered her command. She risked a glance around the room and found the soldiers gathered there watching her back. “What are you waiting for? I’ll gut your cowardly bellies and feed you your own hearts, if you don’t shoot him now!”

And yet, no gun fired.

“It’s pointless,” Mern said. There it was again—the kind, concerned note in his voice that made him so infuriating. “They may be afraid of you, but that just means that they will only be loyal to you as long as you are in a position of strength. Now that you are in danger of losing, they will gladly see you die.”

Was that all it took? One old man, and suddenly her plans, her ambitions would be naught? She was not going to allow it!

“For all your claims, you’ve yet to fight me,” she hissed. “So be it.”

She kicked at his hands, and this time, he didn’t manage to dodge. The ‘saber flew from his hands and clattered uselessly on the floor. Her lightning finally connected, but Mern remained standing. Jenth saw him flinch, but that was it.

She took a step back, as something occurred to her that really should have come to her earlier—you didn’t survive to Mern’s age unless you were _very_ good at surviving. 

 

* * *

 

 

Force lightning was a terrifying expression of the Force—it was the pure wish to see someone suffer given form. But there lay its weakness, too. You could survive it for a while. You could push the pain aside for a time. It took practice, but a Force Hound with over twenty-five years of experience would have plenty of that.

Garon took one step. It felt like walking on shards of glass, but he didn’t stop. If he did, if he faltered, then he’d fall. And if he fell, he’d not have the strength to get up.

Jenth scrambled back, her eyes wide with fear. But she would not stop, and he could feel through the Force that there was no way to convince her they didn't need to fight. All she wanted was to see others suffer.

Garon took another step.

Jenth had run into the wall, the circle of followers flowing like water around them. They kept their distance, too afraid to aid either side.

“You’re a monster!” Jenth hissed. “Just fall already!”

Another step. Her hands were inches away from him, and lightning still sparked off her fingertips.

“Why won’t you-“ Jenth asked, her voice breaking.

Garon reached out, felt the thick, leathery skin under his fingers, and twisted. There was a sickening crack, and Jenth’s body slackened. He let her fall. She slumped at his feet, her neck bent at an unnatural angle.

Slowly, he turned around to face the room. All eyes were on him, each pair (or more) showing signs of fear typical for the species. They were waiting for him to snap. He could only feel pity for them then—all of them, rakata or not, were to terrified to let go of the destructive ways of the Infinite Empire.

“Surrender,” he said. “This is not your war.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Shartoaa had stood by as the old Force Hound faced off against Jenth and did what none of them could. He had stood by when the old Force Hound left, too. But this time, it wasn’t because he was afraid—it was that the human had never once felt afraid during the fight.

It seemed just short of miraculous that anyone could not spend most of their life terrified—Shartoaa certainly had been, of many things: of anyone finding he had Force talents better suited for a slave, of failing his superiors, of dying.

“Sir? What should we do?” a nikto pilot asked.

Shartoaa took a moment to realize that she was addressing him. He was the surviving officer with the highest rank. Except he knew he was not suited to the role. It was another hidden fear—that someone would find out just how unsuited he was for command.

“We surrender,” he said eventually.

It seemed logical, at least. The person who defeated both Gal’vor and Jenth had told them to do so, after all, and the strong were the best suited to rule. And if it had been a slave? Shartoaa had already let one command him.

The pilot was looking at him, incomprehension written over her features.

“I’ll negotiate the terms,” Shartoaa said.

He’d eventually die for this, but not yet if he was quick. If he caught up with the old Force Hound, perhaps he’d survive a while longer, before anyone here thought to get rid of him and take over. It was an uncertain bet—who knew what would happen to him if he trusted a being as unpredictable as a human Force sensitive, but it was better than certain death.

So, Shartoaa marched out of the building purposefully, doing his best to appear certain of himself. If he ran, or faltered, he’d make others think about what he’d said. This made catching up with the old Force Hound much harder, but eventually, he managed.

“Wait! Let me come with you!” he yelled.

The Force Hound turned his head, only glancing at him over his shoulder and asked, "Why?”

“I’m the highest ranking officer right now. I can be useful, I-“ he said, words spilling from him in a jumble.

“I suppose you might be,” the Force Hound said. “Come.”

He turned around and started walking again. Shartoaa had not expected it to go so easily, but he wasn’t about to complain about that.

“Do you have a name, highest ranking officer?” the Force Hound asked. He sounded amused, which was not much of a surprise. Shartoaa being in command was something of a bad joke in itself.

“Shartoaa,” he said. Then he realized he'd forgotten to note the Force Hound's designation, which was rather stupid. They had that written on their faces. “And um, you are?..”

“Garon,” the Force Hound—Garon—said. “Garon Jard.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Sanaa had been fairly certain he wouldn’t be seeing Garon Jard again. A suicide mission was called that for a reason, after all. Then again, it seemed that as of late, the definition of suicide mission must have changed, given that it was the second one in a short time that ended with the prospective dead person returning not only not much worse for wear, but also with a new friend.

Though perhaps calling the rakatan officer a new friend was going a tad far.

The rakata in question was now occupying the co-pilot’s seat, his clawed hands folded on his lap, where both Garon and Sanaa could see them. He didn’t even look particularly intimidating—at least not at the first glance. It was only under closer scrutiny that it became apparent there was a wiry sort of muscle underneath the brick-red skin, and that his mouth was full of small needle-sharp teeth.

“So, how much does it help us exactly that we have him?” he asked.

“Anywhere between a lot and not much,” Garon replied. “It depends how many of the remaining soldiers feel discouraged by the loss of two leaders in such a short time.”

The rakata looked at them then. His expression seemed to change, but if Sanaa hadn’t been able to sense confusion from him, he wouldn’t have been able to guess what the change meant.

“It’s an unusual way to lose a predor and his successor,” Garon continued. “Traditionally, he’d have been backstabbed.”

The rakata said something then in a language Sanaa didn’t recognize.

“He’s asking if you speak Dathomirian,” Garon said. “He doesn’t speak Basic.”

“It’s not very basic, then, is it?” Sanaa replied dryly. “And no, I don’t. If you think he should take part in the conversation, you will have to translate.”

Garon nodded and said something to the rakata. They went back and forth for a while, until Garon said, “He thinks that most will surrender. You’ve proven you’re stronger than they are, so it makes sense to submit to you.”

“Avoiding loss of life doesn’t figure into it at all?” Sanaa asked. He probably should be surprised, and yet it seemed so odd to think that a society that didn’t care about not killing could prosper.

“Only their own lives,” Garon said. He hesitated then, and added after a moment, “And those close to them. But the lives of others in general are not really going to figure into it.”

Sanaa shook his head. “How does a society like this even work?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if anyone's interested in how the various character's look like, Spacelingart did several portraits:
> 
> Vev: http://spacelingart.com/post/174800125440/junes-patreon-reward-for-brightoncemore  
> Wylla: http://spacelingart.com/post/177814290180/august-patreon-reward-wyllaaugusts-reward-for


	21. Where Life on Tython Takes Some Adjusting To

Shartoaa had not expected that betraying his Emperor and the Infinite Empire would be so easy. Truth to be told, he also hadn’t ever imagined it would ever appear the logical choice in any given situation. And yet, here he was, surrendering to the enemy.

After all, the Emperor was distant, and the system’s natives were right here and could actually kill him.

And the notion of broadcasting a call to lay down arms was making him quite uneasy. It was one thing to quietly bring oneself to safety, and a completely different one to order one’s comrades in arms to stand down.

Well, perhaps order was saying a bit much. It was more of a very heartfelt plea. He really did prefer to stay alive as long as he could, and that meant being useful. And being useful meant betraying the Infinite Empire.

“You’re awfully nervous,” the small dathomirian woman said. She was short for her species, and the tattoo on her face wasn’t like Shartoaa expected—instead of an abstract grey pattern, she had flames covering most of it.

“You’d be too, if you had just betrayed-“ Shartoaa started to say and stopped himself. He stepped away from the holorecorder so that he could have a closer look at the dathomirian. “How come you speak Low Rakatan?”

“I learned it,” she replied, in a tone that was far too chipper for his liking.

“You’re a deserter!” Shartoaa exclaimed.

“So are you,” the woman pointed out and gave him an unimpressed look.

Which was a fair point, he supposed. He couldn’t really claim the moral high ground, even if she was from a lesser species, given that he had done exactly the same as she had. He examined her once again, and it was only then that he realized something else—she was Force sensitive.

“You’re a Force Hound,” he said before he thought better. He really shouldn't have been admitting he could tell—having a slave’s skills was not something one should brag about.

“I was a Force Hound,” the woman answered. “And I thought rakata couldn’t sense if another person was Force sensitive.”

Shartoaa considered lying, but then a Force Hound was supposed to be able to sense falsehood, too.

“You’re perceptive,” he finally said. The compliment earned him another unimpressed look.

“By which you mean I’m not a complete idiot like you’ve been taught to think,” she said. “Now, out with it—how come you sensed I’m Force sensitive?”

He clearly was not weaseling out of explaining it. “Probably the same way you do? I always could do it—I just never admitted I could, because someone might decide I’d make a good slave.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Garon had to admit that insisting on getting rid of his tattoo just after returning might not have been the smartest of his ideas. It wasn’t that it had hurt—he knew how to ignore pain. No, it was rather that he’d taken painkillers as instructed, and while removing the tattoo had indeed not been painful, he was now feeling dizzy and weak, and could only remember half of the lecture the healer had been giving him for the last half an hour.

“You’ll need to stay here overnight,” the healer said. He was large felinoid of a species that Garon didn’t recognize with dark grey fur.

“I’m fine,” Garon said, as he started to get up, which proved to be an even worse idea. He stumbled, and only barely managed to keep his balance.

The healer moved to help him, and he only barely managed not to jerk away in surprise. He sat down on the cot again.

“You’re going to be fine in the morning, most likely,” the healer said sternly. “If you rest.”

“I can do it without taking up space here,” Garon protested.

“You’re not,” the healer said firmly. “I promise, there is enough space for you and anyone who might need medical attention here. You’re not helping me by trying to leave—you will, if you lie down and rest.”

It didn’t feel exactly right, but it did seem like the healer would continue arguing, so Garon settled down on the cot as told. He was being enough of an inconvenience already—and he’d probably need help getting to the room he’d been given.

“I’ll give you some supplements,” the healer continued. “And you’re not to do anything strenuous for the next week.” Then, before Garon could say anything, he added, “I’ll have to ask someone to keep an eye on you, won’t I?”

“I’m capable of following instructions,” Garon replied. He had been doing that most of his life, hadn’t he?

“Let me rephrase that—it will make me feel better, if I know someone will be around to make sure there’s no delayed reaction to the painkillers or the supplement I’ve given you,” the healer said after a moment. “I expressed myself poorly the first time. I’m sorry I insinuated you’d ignore me.”

“I over-reacted,” Garon said after a moment, feeling rather surreal. “I- I think I really do need to rest.”

There probably was something less awkward he could say, but he couldn’t really think of anything. 

 

* * *

 

 

Apparently, once one proved to be capable as a teacher, one became the go-to person for similar cases. As such, it seemed that once Ymali was done imparting his wisdom to Garon Jard what constituted proper healthcare, Daegen was to take over, simply by virtue of being the teacher to Tamid.

“Well then, I suppose we can start with reasons why cannibalism is a bad idea,” Daegen said in his most reasonable tone.

“You don’t need to,” Garon replied firmly. “I’m not going to eat anything that had to suffer for me to eat it.”

That had not been on the list of replies Daegen had expected at all. But perhaps he should have expected that the man would have different ideas than Tamid—he was much older than the boy, after all.

“I suppose I don’t have to, then, no,” he said. “But you might want to talk with Ymali about how to prepare your meals—humans are omnivores, true, but you will need to know where to get protein from now on..”

Garon looked at him with a lopsided frown for a while. The scar where his tattoo had been was red and seemed to be painful, judging by how he tried not to move the side of his face too much.

“I’ve had worse,” Garon said, clearly having noticed where Daegen was looking.

“I figured as much,” Daegen replied. “Given that Tamid looks like he rolled over a bed of swords, some of which were on fire, without his shirt, and he’s a lot younger than you are.”

“I’m probably older than you are,” Garon said.

“I’m forty-eight,” Daegen replied smugly. Even after the years in the desert, he didn’t really look his age.

Garon stared at him. “ _You_ are older than I am. Ten years older.”

And that was Daegen’s turn to stare. He had assumed Garon actually was older than him, but clearly, that was not the case. “And now I know why I never liked the idea of helmets.”

Garon snorted, sounding both surprised and amused. Then he shook his head. “I’m an idiot. All this time, I really did believe that the Force kills non-rakata. I knew so much else they say about us—that we're too dangerous not to be slaves was a lie, but I still believed that.”

“While I’m certain I am the smarter one of us two, I wouldn’t go that far,” Daegen said. “If you knew most of what you’ve been taught about non-rakata Force sensitives is wrong, then you likely had some reason to believe that particular bit of nonsense.” Then, figuring it was time put his experience dealing with Tamid to use, he added, “Let's see about getting you something to eat.”

  

* * *

 

 

Tamid seemed to be preoccupied with something, but Shae thought she’d let him decide on his own whether he wanted to talk to her about it. So far, it seemed like he almost always did eventually end up telling her or Daegen was bothering him, after all.

“What happens if you find out you’re better suited for a different Temple than the one your teacher is from?” he eventually asked.

“Usually, they switch Temples and teachers,” Shae answered. “I think Léionore Brock did that—although, no, she only had proposals from Mahara Kesh and from Master Dam-Powl, but she intended to join Anil Kesh from fairly early on. Or so I’ve heard, anyway.”

Tamid started picking at his sleeve then, which was a fairly good indicating that the problem was still bothering him.

“You want to switch to Qigong Kesh?” Shae guessed. It had seemed more likely with every passing day that it would happen. Tamid definitely enjoyed learning more about his talent, and Qigong Kesh was where he’d receive the best support for it.

“I don’t know,” Tamid said, after a moment. “It’s in the desert, isn’t it? There’s not going to be a lot of plants there.” He hesitated for a moment, and then added, “And won’t it look like I don’t appreciate Daegen?”

“Your situation was always going to be unique,” Shae said, thinking about how to best explain that Daegen was a big boy and would probably be insufferably proud of Tamid, and would absolutely definitely not be hurt. “We’ve known from the start that you might not want to join Anil Kesh permanently—Daegen has been teaching you mostly about the Force, hasn’t he?”

“And how people and society works here,” Tamid said, after a moment. “And other stuff.”

“And if you’re really not sure, we can always give you some more scientific texts to get stared with—and well… that’s what the Great Journey is for, really,” Shae added. She grinned at him then. “And now to find out if you can take on a saarl on your own again.”

“I’d rather not,” Tamid replied—he seemed to relax again and smiled back. “I think it’s one of the things I remember after the crash. It was that snake-thing with lots of teeth.”

“And if you choose another Temple, you can always come visit,” Shae added. “In fact, you should come visit. And I can tell Daegen when I’ll be visiting you, so he’ll come too.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Wylla still hadn’t gotten used to Tython. Every time she woke up, she expected to find herself with her brood or, worse, in the pod. Maybe, eventually, she’d convince herself that she really was safe, that she wasn’t imagining this—she didn’t want to make Sek’nos think that she didn’t believe him or decide she was too much trouble.

Then, there was Mahara Kesh. It was huge and the parts under water were almost eerie at times. The healer who had done her checkup had an office with a huge window overlooking the ocean, and Wylla just couldn’t look at the dark water. She also couldn’t spend too much time outside, because looking at the waves made her feel sick.

She really was glad they were leaving.

“So, to have a head-dress like yours, I’d have to kill one of those weird lizards?” she asked.

“You don’t have montrals, so the design would need to be made to fit a human head,” Sek’nos answered. “And not necessarily—grandmother Miarta wears one with crystals, and grandpa Thok has one made from several types of metal. One of my aunts wears scarves instead.

“It’s not the material that matters, but rather that it’s something important to you personally,” he said. “Master Madog compared picking components for your lightsaber to making one. You just know what will be right for you.”

Wyalla looked at Sek’nos (which was a bit hard on occasions when she wanted to look at his face or montrals, given how tall he was)—she had wanted to fit in, but it seemed there was more to that. Still, having something pretty that would be also part of her, sounded so nice as to almost be unreal.

Still, there was something about the explanation that seemed to be strange.

“What if you’re not Force sensitive?” she asked.

“Then you still pick materials that are meaningful to you,” Sek’nos answered. “You don’t need the Force to find something that you feel that is important to you—you can just look at it and if it like how it looks, than that’s what you’re looking for.”

Wylla frowned. “You mean that if I think something is pretty than I have some connection to it?”

“More or less,” Sek’nos replied. “It doesn’t mean you can take it if it belongs to someone else or anything like that—multiple people can have a connection to the same thing, for one, or you just need to find or buy something like it on your own.”

“And that’s how you picked the components of your lightsaber too?” Wylla asked, still puzzled by the idea.

“The casing,” Sek’nos laughed. “It’s not the only way. I’ve a friend who can manipulate plants through the Force, and he used wood for the casing, because it made him feel more connected to the Force and the his lightaber.”

“Doesn’t wood burn though?” Wylla asked, now completely perplexed.

“Not if you only use it for the part where you hold it,” Sek’nos replied. “You want that part insulated well already, because you don’t want to burn your hands, right?”

That did make sense, she thought. She still wasn’t sure if she understood all the rest—how something being pretty meant anything else than it being pretty, but maybe it was because they were from different species? Or from different planets?

“You don’t have to worry about lightsabers yet, though,” Sek’nos added. “You’ve time before you can decide if you want to build one.”


	22. Where Even a Failed Invasion Leaves Quite a Mess Behind

Shyrra had to admit that if there was one thing this shipwreck of a campaign had taught her, it was that rakata could not be trusted to deal with anything that wasn't a straightforward victory. The best you could count on was a void-taken coward like Shartoaa surrendering and saving your hide in the process of saving his own hide.

Then again, the natives seemed to ignore all the rules about surrender she had known.

“Look, I was just following orders,” Shyrra said. Or tried to—her Dathomirian was not the best, and it seemed that she’d either have to use that or try her even shoddier Basic.

The dathomirian woman before her gave her a long-suffering look then. She had been interrogating Shyrra and everyone she had brought to the natives. Really, so far they were doing what had been asked of them to the letter—Shyrra had landed exactly in the zone that she was supposed to and waited for this Ranger to deign to show up.

And now she had to explain why she had been fighting at all.

“And it didn’t bother you at all that those creatures you would bring planetside would kill non-combatants?” the Ranger asked with a frown.

“No, better you then me, right?” Shyrra answered. “What do you think I should have done? Said no and gotten executed?”

The woman gave her the kind of look one gives very sad cases of lacking a brain and said, “You do realize that you outnumber your officers, don’t you? And every single one of you said that you were just following orders and killing us because you’d get executed otherwise. If this is the case, why didn’t you just come together and rebel?”

Shyrra opened her mouth and then closed it again. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the answer, but the fact that the woman really seemed to believe something like that was possible was completely unreal. She couldn’t be that naïve and at the same time responsible for anything, could she?

“Because I can’t trust their carcasses,” she finally snapped. “Because I wanted to go home, and I wouldn’t be able to if I were a traitor. Or are you telling me you think we should just band together and over-throw the rakata?”

The dathomirian appeared to be entirely unconvinced by Shyrra’s arguments. “Obviously. Why would you want people like them in charge?”

“Oh, next you’ll tell me that your leaders let you do what you want,” Shyrra snorted.

“Well, given that I want things like to fly a spaceship and make sure others are safe, yes, they actually do,” the dathomirian answered. 

 

* * *

 

 

Ersh saw no reason to follow the order to stand down. The officer who’d given them was clearly an upstart with no clue. The system had plenty of hiding places, and Ersh was planning to be smart about his. No hiding in the abandoned farms on the moons for him—he’d head for the last planet in the system and make it his base of operations.

Sure, there was a space station there, but it was abandoned completely and Ersh was reasonably certain that he’d find a better hiding place before the natives even thought about sending anyone there again.

He’d heard some other pilots gossip that the last planet was haunted, that several patrols had gone missing in its vicinity, but knowing the morons, it was perfectly plausible that they simply hadn’t been paying attention to such basics as their energy reserves or not flying too close to one another.

But Ersh was smarter. He would keep to the shadows, either until the next fleet came or he found a way to sneak in somewhere and start a new life. He was a good pilot, he’d find something to do. There would be inter-planetary trade, and that meant he could cripple a transport and steal what he needed.

Stand down. Like some coward.

Ersh angled his fighter towards the planet. It had been growing larger and larger, and by now its surface was taking up half of his viewport. The grey surface didn’t contrast much with the black void—it looked frankly rather boring.

It was then that he realized that there was movement in the corner. He turned towards it and saw something breath-taking: a swarm of crystalline creatures, the starlight reflecting from their faceted bodies and casting rainbows. The flew through the void towards him, and although he knew there would be no sound, he imagined he could hear buzzing.

They closed in, deceptively slow, while Ersh tried to change course. One by one, they grabbed onto his starfighter, and started pulling it off course. But it wasn’t the worst part—the worst part was that Ersh could hear them now.

They were tearing his fighter apart. The metal was groaning in protest, but it he could feel the air moving as it escaped. He tried to turn sharply, to shake them off, but then he smelled smoke.

They’d reached the engine. 

 

* * *

 

 

Aran had been on the surface of the forest planet when she learned of the death of predor Gal’vor. There had been a call to retreat and regroup at some moon or other. Aran and her unit had had other ideas then, and it hadn’t changed when the currently highest-ranking officer issued a call to surrender.

The forest was huge—an ideal place for someone to get lost in. True, the planet was a cold one, but Aran and most of her unit were all veterans. They’d find a way to survive in the harsh climate.

“There are birds here,” Kiel said, as he placed a nest in front of Aran. His closed his large red eyes for a moment—a sign that he was thinking. Aran adjusted her lekku as she waited. “Ishiin says she saw some other small animals—so if we hunt those, we should have enough meat.”

“I still say we should find some locals and just steal from them,” Dyia grumbled. Sometimes, Aran wondered how someone so stupid had survived this long—the human kept on looking for the easiest possible solutions, regardless of how suicidal they ended up being.

“There five of us,” Aran said patiently, “and who knows how many of them. Annoying them won’t be healthy.”

“Not unless we’re smart about it,” Ishiin pointed out as she took over preparing the eggs. It wasn’t exactly the kind of use their mess kit was intended for, but they’d ran out of rations and had nothing better. Out of them all, the gran had the most experience with field improvisation, so they’d been delegating the cooking to her. “We’ll first need to find some bases of operations—we’ll need to keep switching places, if we don’t want to get caught.”

Despite herself, Aran found herself nodding. Ishiin knew what she was doing—she always had. And if she thought Dyia’s idea wasn’t complete offal, then well… it was better than living off the unfamiliar land

“Scout the area, make sure we don’t get caught, that sort of thing,” Ishiin continued. “It’s doable.”

“And it beats eating some poisonous berry and dying of the shits,” Kiel added. 

 

* * *

 

It had been Gharcanna’s wife who’d caught the deserter. Clearly, the human had not been expecting an angry wookiee matriarch when he'd snuck into their house. Wrrysha was not given to violence by nature, but that didn’t mean she was not a force to be reckoned with when provoked.

Still, the human was lucky it was Wrrysha who caught him and not Gharcanna—he was merely bruised and concussed, and not missing any limbs.

“We should notify the other tribes,” Wrrysha said, as she watched the unconscious human. He was still dressed in his uniform, though it was crumpled, dirty and torn in places, making him easily recognizable as a member of the Infinite Empire. “And interrogate him. There may be more of them.”

“I’ll gladly ask him some questions,” Gharcanna replied. The idea that some… hairless trespasser had the gall to defile his home and threaten his wife was making his claws itch.

“We will find a third party that will interrogate him,” Wrrysha answered firmly, as she rose. The gold bracelets on her wrists clinked against each other as she moved. “Someone who will not feel like damaging him further. We will contact the other tribes.”

Gharcanna opened his mouth to argue, but reconsidered. He was being an asshole of a husband right now, forcing his wife to be reasonable about someone who had threatened her. As much as the thought of someone invading his home and making his wife fight them angered him, he was not the wronged party.

And he was the chieftain. He did have duties.

“You’re right,” he said, as he put his arm around Wrrysha’s shoulders, his chestnut fur contrasting sharply against her black fur. “Let’s get someone to guard him and interrogate him. We’ve work to do.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Lha-Mi was having a bad feeling and couldn’t say precisely why. There was no logical reason for it—true, not all of the imperial soldiers had laid down their weapons, but they would be dealt with one way or another eventually. Figuring out what to do with the ones that had would also take time and resources, but again, Lha-Mi didn’t think it accounted for the sense of foreboding.

There was, of course, one possibility that would explain it—it was not the end. The Infinite Empire may not have been truly infinite, but it was vast. It was eminently possible that the loss of one fleet would not count as too high a cost, and that another invasion was coming.

He didn’t know how long they could last, if the invasions just kept coming.

“Everyone is calling for more support from your Temple and the Rangers,” Phon-Gyi said. She was leaning against her desk, her elbows resting on the hard surface—the hologram may have not been showing the desk, but it was easy enough to guess from her posture. “I can’t tell right now how long until we can start letting them come back.”

“It’s to be expected,” Lha-Mi replied. While a long-distance relationship was not always convenient, being married to the president of Kalimahr had its benefits. Not that Phon-Gyi would ever discuss state secrets with him, but matters pertaining to his Temple were something that did come up on occasions. It made their life much easier sometimes. “Eventually, we will have to reduce the number of Knights and Squires in the field, and start assigning Rangers back to their normal duties, but the situation is not there yet.”

Phon-Gyi looked at him thoughtfully for a few moments. “Something is worrying you—and it’s not this.”

“It’s just a feeling,” Lha-Mi replied. “None of the seers had any visions that’d confirm it, but I’m worried this isn’t over. That the Infinite Empire will keep on sending fleet after fleet until we’re worn down completely.”

“Do you think it’s likely?” his wife asked.

“It’s possible,” Lha-Mi said after a moment. “It’s equally possible that they will decide that losing one fleet is enough. According to the runaways from the Infinite Empire, it will depend on the emperor, and since none of them know him, none of them can predict how he will react.”

Phon-Gyi nodded. “I see. Then we need to prepare for the worst.”

“And hope it won't come to that,” Lha-Mi added. “Though it does seem like we may have to increase the amount of military training we do on Tython. And include piloting—having Force-sensitive pilots was a significant advantage.”

Phon-Gyi shook her head. “You have quite enough military training as it is—you have to, with all those creatures looking for lunch everywhere outside of the Temples.”

“There’s a difference between fighting a sentient opponent and protecting yourself from an animal,” Lha-Mi replied. “The latter you can often scare off, and if not it will operate on instinct. It’s not likely to outsmart you, in most cases.”

Phon-Gyi nodded. “In any case, you can learn from the defectors.”

“Yes,” Lha-Mi agreed. “We certainly will.”


	23. Epilogue

The laboratory was in a remote location, hidden away from the prying eyes of those who didn’t need to know of it. Once upon a time, Skal’nas had given Ceh’let access to it, as part of their marital contract, and she’d made sure to remain on good terms with the scientists there. It had served her well—as Tul’kar could attest to.

Or couldn’t, to be more precise. Using the virus had been risky, but Ceh’let knew it would effectively neutralize the predor as a threat.

And now, she was walking along the brightly lit, white corridor, as Inlaa led her to his office. Through the glass windows she could peek into offices and work stations, and see the scientists bustling inside.

Finally, they reached their goal, and Ceh’let sat down on the white couch. The leather creaked slightly, as she settled herself down, while Inlaa offered her a drink.

“How may I help you, my lady?” he asked, as he sat down on a chair opposite to her.

“We have lost contact with Gal’vor’s fleet,” she said bluntly. “If word goes out that I’m having problems with some miserable mudball… well, I’m sure I don’t need to finish this sentence. I will be sending a second fleet, of course. But this time, I need insurance.”

Inlaa inclined his head to the side. “What do you wish? A poison gas? New breed of Flesh Raiders?”

Ceh’let scoffed. “No. Something more effective. I want you to make the Silencer virus airborne.”

Inlaa’s eyes swivelled towards her—not in shock, but in curiosity. He had always been one for challenges, and this was one she knew he wouldn’t be able to pass up.

“Ah, it makes sense—we know there is an unusual number of Force sensitives in the system,” he said thoughtfully “And it will give you a threat to hold over the heads of other Dictators, will it not?”

“I’d never dream of it,” Ceh’let said, but couldn’t help grinning. “I take it you are up to the challenge?”

“Always, my lady.”


End file.
